


It's All Over But The Crying

by VeteranKlaus



Series: All is Well (I Did Them Worse) [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Klaus, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Dark Ben too, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Not immortal Klaus but like, Powerful Klaus Hargreeves, Telekinetic Klaus Hargreeves, This boy can't fuckin die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Two days after Reginald Hargreeve's funeral, Number Four finally showed up; striding into the academy with skin as pale as snow, lipstick and nails and clothes as dark as the night, and kohl-lined eyes as fierce as a feral wolf and a grin just as sharp.Or, in which drugs don't affect the ghosts anymore, so Klaus, over the years, comes to live with his powers and learns some more. He's not okay, but who needs to be okay when God herself doesn't like you?





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters will be longer! Just a quick intro to the idea. Hopefully you enjoy! I've wanted to write this idea for ages but never thought it out until now.

Number Four did not like ghosts. It was the most simple fact one could accept, and yet no one besides himself - and, eventually, Number Six - had accepted. Perhaps it was merely the fact that because no one else had to deal with the ghosts, because no one else knew what they looked like, what they sounded like, how they acted; was the reason no one seemed to make an effort to truly understand his power. Why would they? In theory, everything was simple. The other siblings - perhaps aside from Number Six, once more - didn't need to think about their powers in depth. They could train it to perfection, fine tune their powers, be given the option to never use their powers. Four and Six? Neither of them had such luxury. When ones powers involved working with other sentient beings, things got more complicated. More unwilling, more violent, more terrifying.

So no, Number Four did not like ghosts, and ghosts did not like him. They never had and they never would, as far as he was concerned. It was fine; he even found his own off switch for his powers. If he couldn't will the ghosts away, he'd force them away by melting his own mind with enough drugs that he was hardly aware if he was alive, let alone pay attention to any unrestful spirits around him. It was, to put it simply; bliss. He'd take his family's disappointment, distrust and disgust over the ghosts any day. 

He was twenty-six when that changed. A normal dose of cocaine didn't send the ghosts away like usual, nor did a higher dose of molly, or even heroin. When he took so much his body seized and his heart stopped, the ghosts still waited around his body until the paramedics resuscitated him, and they continued to haunt him. Klaus would quickly come to the realisation that drugs simply didn't work anymore. His off switch had broken and he'd been thrown back into the land of the dead. He tried to escape it permanently, and all it did was bring him to a monochrome world in which a little girl he dubbed God told him that it wasn't his time while an accordion played a tune that echoed throughout the air, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere. 

_"Don't make me go back there," Klaus had begged. Here, he couldn't feel the pain in his stomach from the pills he'd taken. Here, he couldn't hear the ghosts. "I can't. I can't deal with them."_

_The little girl had sat on a picnic blanket, a bottle of lemonade in her hands as she regarded him impassively. "I am sorry," she had said. "I truly am. But you are needed soon, and this needs to happen."_

_She gave him no second chance to plead for sweet release and silence, flicking her hand to dismiss him, and he'd woken up in the same alleyway he had just died in._

Klaus had no idea what she meant by that, but he had yet to see her again. Not that it mattered much now, though. That had been three years ago, and a lot had happened in three years.

The ghosts didn't leave. They never left, and Klaus lived and breathed with them. He muttered their chants to himself and wrote their words on the walls of his apartment. He studied death as intimately as one could. He learned that he could dance with death and death would spin him beneath its cold hand. He learned that he could make ghosts corporeal and that Ben couldn't stop them when the other ghosts tried to tear him apart. Klaus learned that his relationship with death went much deeper than he had thought originally, and maybe Reginald had been right about his untapped potential. Klaus wished he'd been wrong. God, he wished he'd been wrong. He'd give being ordinary like Vanya over the rotting corpses that followed his every waking and sleeping moment. He'd rather be the ordinary one than The Séance. 

Klaus wouldn't lie and say it didn't change him. One could only listen to corpses detail their deaths and pray to different Gods for so long before it changed them. Perhaps it was simply that his humour got darker and edgier, or that he became more careless and destructive. He already danced with death; nothing else would ever be as dangerous or harmful or terrifying. Perhaps it was the way his laugh was bitter and nasty and detached, that he laughed until he cried when he was paralysed from drugs he still occasionally did and the ghosts hounded him in his time of vulnerability and weakness. He didn't know; didn't care. 

Now, here he sat, in his shitty apartment that smelt like cigarette smoke and ash, using the cracked mirror hanging above his dresser to carefully apply a perfect layer of matte black lipstick on his lips. An old record played, echoing around his bedroom, and a cigarette smouldered from its place between his pointer and middle finger of his left hand.

His apartment was a small thing; one bedroom, one bathroom, a joint kitchen and living room. All his furniture was cheap and second-hand or free - or, in some cases, stolen - and it was in the poor area of town, three floors above an alleyway in which Klaus occasionally frequented whenever he wanted to chase away a itch in his veins. It wasn't the best in the world, but it was the best for Klaus and he was happy with it. 

His bedroom was small and at the front, overlooking the street. The walls were plain white, almost filled completely by his scrawled hand writing in different coloured sharpie, retelling stories of gruesome deaths and old prayers and languages Klaus couldn't name and didn't remember writing in. Most of his money had went on the fairy lights that hung from his ceiling and the lamps that stole every available flat surface throughout his house, chasing away his fear of the dark. He had random ornaments and decorations he'd either thrifted or stolen. His favourite was the large lions head made of metal wiring that hung above his bed. 

"I'm thinking... donuts with a side of whiskey," he hummed, pressing his lips together and then pursing them. He used his ring finger to wipe away a bit of stray lipstick and then put the tube aside, reaching instead for his beloved eyeliner pencil.

"I'm thinking a nice, balanced meal with some water," replied Ben, and Klaus looked at him in the cracked mirror. He quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

"Eh, not really my appetite tonight," he hummed sarcastically, finishing his eyeliner and smudging it out slightly. He stared at his reflection; his pale skin and the midnight black makeup, the milky scar on his left cheekbone - inflicted from a ghost's nail when he had first manifested them by accident - and his slender shoulders and sharp collar bones, the heavy, white fur jacket that was draped over his shoulders. He ran his fingers through the collar before putting his cigarette between his lips, freeing his hands so he could pull his jacket properly on over his fishnet shirt. He stood up, turning to face Ben. He took a drag of his cigarette and then held it up, hands enveloped in a mist of blue, and Ben rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he stepped forwards and took it now that he was corporeal, and he took a drag of it and handed it back. With an amused grin, the blue from Klaus' hands faded and he watched smoke puff out from his torso. 

"All that does is make your place smell," stated Ben, watching smoke drift out of his incorporeal lungs, and Klaus shrugged.

"It's worth it. You look all," he waved a hand, "spooky. Smoking and shit."

It had been possibly one of the first experiments they had done; if Klaus physically manifested Ben, could he eat? Drink? Smoke? What could he do and what could he not do? Ben couldn't consume food or drink; it simply didn't work. He could hold smoke in his lungs for only a few quick moments, and if Klaus unmanifested him, it simply expelled from him like some fancy smoke machine. Klaus thought it was funny, and Ben liked to humour him sometimes. 

Ben shrugged. "Either way, I think you should go to some salad bar, or something. Treat yourself?" 

Klaus snorted. He stabbed his cigarette out on his overflowing ash tray and wandered aside to pull his window shut. "I've spent enough time with vegetables in my life already," he scoffed jokingly, and Ben rolled his eyes. Klaus simply grinned at him and went to find his boots and pull them on. He smoothed out the skirt he wore, toying with the fabric and grinning at himself in the mirror. "Let's go get donuts and drugs," he said, clapping his hands together. He grabbed his wallet and keys and skipped out of his apartment, Ben following after him and onto the streets. He gave a two-fingered wave to the meth-dealer on the floor below him as he passed by, and he bared his teeth to the ghost of a poor hooker outside. 

It was quiet as he made his way down the streets, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his fur jacket. He ducked into the old donut shop that he'd been going to since his childhood, sneaking out of the academy after curfew with his siblings to eat donuts until they were sick. The memory almost made him smile. Almost. He hadn't seen his siblings in years, not since they'd given up on funding his drug habit and seeing him in the hospital after an overdose. Klaus hadn't made any attempts to contact them, either. A part of him did miss them, deep down, but he drowned that out with drug-induced euphoria.

The old woman behind the counter smiled at him as he flashed her a wave with his _hello_ hand, requesting a box with three different kinds of donuts in them. He paid, letting her keep whatever change he had, and he took the long way home that he knew led him past one specific alleyway he wanted to visit, much to Ben's displeasure. 

The alley was dark and deep and some stray cat hissed at him from its place atop a dumpster, and he hissed back before approaching the silhouette of a man sitting further inside the alley. The man peered out from beneath his hood, eyes lighting up at the sight of Klaus, and he gave him a gap-toothed, yellow grin. 

"Klaus," he greeted, sitting up slightly. A chesty cough tore from the mans throat and Klaus ignored it, grinning at him.

"Ross," he replied, inclining his head. "You got anything for me today?"

The man chuckled, deep and raspy in his throat. "Of course," he said. Klaus reached into his wallet as the man reached into his bag, and they did their exchange quickly. Klaus blew the man a beloved kiss before scurrying out of the alleyway, stuffing his new hit into the pocket of his coat and hurrying home.

"You know, there's a movie out tonight," announced Ben, watching him fumble to unlock his door. "Maybe we should go watch that." 

Klaus spared him a glance over his shoulder, giving him a look his brother was well familiar with. "I can't just leave my stash unattended, dear brother. Maybe tomorrow," he shrugged. He shoved his door open, kicked his shoes off, and fell onto his creaking crouch. He fumbled to pull out a bag of powder, gazing at it as if it were a prized possession.

"At least eat first, Klaus," Ben requested. Klaus heaved a sigh, but his stomach growled and he reached for his box of donuts. His fingers hovered over them.

"What one?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. Ben leaned over his shoulder, eying the three donuts before pointing at the chocolate one. Klaus nodded approvingly, plucking it out of the box and taking a bite of it. He reached for his TV remote with his other hand, turning it on before leaving to rummage around in his kitchen for a spoon. Satisfied, the man settled down on his couch, donut hanging from his teeth while he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled the ribbon belt from around his waist. As he tied the ribbon around his bicep, Ben spoke up.

"Wait, Klaus. Look at this," he urged, eyes trained on the thick screen of his television. Klaus groaned, mouth watering around the donut and fingers fumbling to tie his makeshift tourniquet, but he looked up nonetheless, emerald eyes landing on the TV with a picture of his father's face on it.

_Eccentric billionaire Reginald Hargreeves found dead by a sudden heart attack. It is said the family, also known as The Umbrella Academy, will be gathering to hold a private funeral for the genius later tonight, while former fans remember his most famous creation; The Umbrella Academy._

Klaus let the news reporter's voice trail off into an incoherent buzzing in his ears and he hummed, sharing a look with Ben.

"Well," he said, and his lips spread out into a grin. "Good fuckin' riddance." He set his half-eaten donut onto the lid of the box, busying himself with pouring his powder onto the spoon he had brought out and holding the spoon above his lighter until it melted into a sickly sweet mixture. Then, he filled his syringe with it and held it up to his brother in a mock idea of a cheers.

"Long live the Umbrella Academy," he snorted, and he lined up the needle with one of his protruding veins. Ben raised an eyebrow.

He never approved of his drug habits, and he never would; but he also knew that if Klaus was already at this stage, only the end of the world was going to stop him from injecting himself. Nonetheless, he tried to prolong his clarity, grabbing his attention.

"Are you not going to the funeral?" He asked. Klaus' eyes flicked up and he barked a laugh. 

"What? No. Of course not. If the old man wants to see me, he can come here himself. Plus, do you really think any of our dear siblings will go?" He retorted, eyebrow raised. Ben glared at him.

"You know they will. Maybe it'd be nice to see them again," he stated. Klaus snickered to himself as if the simple statement was incredibly amusing, his head swinging side to side minutely. His hand with the syringe trembled, wet needle tapping his skin tauntingly.

"It'd be hilarious and horrifying to see them again, you mean?" He shrugged, turning his attention back to his main priority. "I guess we'll see how I feel when I wake up, huh?" With that, he pushed the needle into his vein and pushed down on the plunger. He hardly had time to loosen his tourniquet before a moan slid past his lips, a mind-devouring high melting his tense muscles and making him fall into his couch like he had no bones. 

He didn't care about the Umbrella Academy, or if Reginald had died. He'd probably see him soon either way. Funerals were nonsense for Klaus. Perhaps he'd miss watching Diego try to claw Luther's throat out, but he was sure they wouldn't miss him, brushing him off as getting high, and, well, they wouldn't be wrong. It was a funny thought and it made his painted lips curl upwards. The Umbrella Academy was nothing but shreds now, emotionally stunted adults with too much childhood trauma for one therapist to handle. He'd probably make the same amount of personal growth getting high and listening to the French cries of a girl who had been murdered in the apartment across from his as he would attending his father's funeral. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this part intrigued you! If it did, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I greatly appreciate it! You can contact me on Tumblr @veteranklaus.


	2. At Least I Have Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Klaus peeled his eyelids open, blinking his world into clarity. He was on his side on his couch, utterly exhausted but in the way one might be on a cool winter night, snuggled up in bed with a fire and Christmas music on. Pleasantly tired, he thought, and he had to force himself to stay awake. His heavy limbs moved to sit him up on the couch, the room spinning, and he zoned in on the donut box on the coffee table in front of him. He reached for it, shoving the lid open and reaching for one of his donuts. His eyebrows furrowed together as his hand didn't meet a single donut, but rather only the crumbs of them all and something furry. He opened his eyes, unaware they had even closed in the first place, and made eye contact with a fat ginger cat tilting its head back to meet his gaze.

"Ben," Klaus rasped, "what the fuck?"

Lounging on the windowsill, his brother turned to glance at him. "Oh, you're awake," he mused. "John's cat came in again. I'm honestly impressed that it managed to eat all of your donuts."

Klaus groaned, picking up the cat and ignoring when it hissed at him, tail flicking and teeth digging into his forearm. He trudged over to his door, throwing it open and stepping out into the hallway.

"John!" He yelled, marching over to his neighbour's door and thumping his fist against the rickety wood. John was his neighbour on this floor, a man a few years older than himself with a criminal record to put Klaus' to shame and parties that left even Klaus needing a day to recover from. He also had a cat that Klaus thought was cute at first, but over the months and years he came to realise it was a cocky bastard that managed to sneak into Klaus' apartment and eat all of his food. "Your fucking cat's at it again!" He called, glaring at the peephole. The cat in his hand blinked at him before baring its teeth in a challenge again. Icing caked its fur and Klaus glared at it. He was an animal lover, yes, but this particular cat managed to ruin his life single handedly. 

"Let him be!" Called John, footsteps heavy as he approached the door. Multiple locks slid open before the door did, and John's handsome features, rugged from years of alcohol and drug use, peered back at him. "You gotta stop stealin' my fuckin' cat, Klaus," the man said sarcastically, reaching out for the animal. "What'd he do?"

Klaus happily handed it over, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. "He ate all of my donuts. Literally all of them," he said, watching as the cat licked the icing from its lips. "I don't even know how he did it. Three full, man sized donuts." He clicked his tongue and shook his head, eying the thief. 

"Three man sized donuts?" Echoed the blond. "You wouldn't be able to eat that much either." 

Klaus snorted, shoving his shoulder, and John snickered, holding his free hand up in defence. "Fuck off," snickered Klaus, rolling his eyes. He jabbed a finger at the cat which flattened its ears against his head, hissing at him. "You too, bastard cat." 

John covered the cats ears with one hand, holding it close to his chest. "Don't be like that, he doesn't know any better."

Klaus scoffed. "I bet you trained him to steal my food," he accused jokingly, and John's lips spread into a mischievous grin.

"Well..."

Klaus laughed, rolling his eyes and waving a hand dismissively. "Tell it to stop eating my shit," he said, turning around.

"Oi, Hargreeves. Can I make it up to you with some pancakes?" John offered, and Klaus peered at him from over his shoulder. "Plus," he added, "I can tell you're still fucked, so you ought to eat." He pressed his lips together, rocking on his heel. 

"Fine," he said, and he followed him back inside his apartment. When Klaus had first moved here, they had had a thing. It had lasted a surprisingly long time, but neither man was stable enough for a real relationship so they settled on doing coke together and occasionally making out whenever one of them was in a low mood. Aside from the whole 'extreme drug user' thing, Klaus thought he was actually a pretty decent guy. 

He collapsed onto his couch, melting into it and eying the television playing some old movie on a low volume. John set his cat down, letting it lick away icing and sprinkles from its face, and he disappeared to his kitchen for a few minutes. When he came back with a plate of freshly made pancakes, Klaus' chin was on his chest, eyes closed. He jerked awake when the couch dipped and John nudged his knee, and he groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He muttered a groggy thanks and accepted the offered pancakes with shaky hands, digging in slowly. 

"I just... don't get the movie," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Like, for one; you're not even Scottish, why do you care about this? And for two; it's not even accurate, man. I did history lessons. Or, at least, I know that something called 'the battle of Stirling bridge' was, you know, on a fucking bridge. There's not even a bridge in sight."

John snorted, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah, but it's for _entertainment_ , not historical accuracy. I'd think you would like a man in a skirt. Kilt." 

Klaus gestured himself up and down. "I _am_ the man in a skirt." He snickered to himself before shovelling the final remaining piece of the pancake into his mouth. He set the plate on the table, waving away the greedy cat that came back to sniff at the crumbs before he slumped back against the couch, tipping his head back. "God, I'm fucking tired," he whined, closing his eyes. John shuffled on the couch, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later and Klaus heard the lid of something open. He cracked his eyes open to see him twisting the lid of a whiskey bottle off, and he reached out quickly, a sly grin on his tired lips. John snorted. 

"I don't think you should drink just yet," he commented. Klaus raised his eyebrows.

"We both know I've done worse. Give it. My dad died, I deserve a drink."

"Shit. Uh, sorry man," said John, and Klaus snatched the bottle from his hand. He brought it up to his lips, taking a long swig and swallowing it dry.

"Eh. What time is it?" 

John sighed. "About... close to ten."

Klaus hummed in acknowledgement. So much for contemplating attending the funeral. Not that it mattered. Klaus heaved himself to his feet, stretching his arms out above his head. "Uh, thanks for the pancakes, man," Klaus said, scratching his jaw. "But I ought to go... do something," he shrugged half-heartedly. John quirked an eyebrow at him but didn't stop him, eyes tracking him as he trudged out of his apartment. The cat had been dealt with and he'd even got some food for free, so he was pretty damn satisfied with his entire life at that moment. He made his way back to his own apartment, eying the crumbs of what would have been his dinner had the cat not somehow gotten into his apartment.

"Everyone's probably still at home," Ben commented. "The academy. We could still go see them."

Klaus pursed his lips. There was a man on his couch, bullet holes shredding his chest. Klaus remembered seeing his face on the news two days ago; he had shot his family and then tried to shoot the police, and been mowed down. He hadn't yet realised Klaus was looking at him and the blood not-staining his couch. Klaus wondered what his family thought of him. Had they discussed his absence? Sat around the dining table as Grace dished out a feast, everyone dressed in black, and wondered where their fourth sibling was? 

No. The idea was laughable, and laugh he did. It sounded unhinged to even his own ears. His family didn't care about him and that was fine. Klaus was perfectly fine with that. The only family member he needed was his dearest dead brother. He had plenty of ghosts that showed more interest in him. Before he knew it, laughs were bubbling up in his ribs like poison, tightening the bones and crushing the air out of his lungs. He laughed, one arm around his torso, his other hand over his mouth, and he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He laughed until black spots danced in his vision and he felt like he was hyperventilating, and only then did he gasp for air like a fish out of water, staggering towards his bedroom.

God, his life was an entire joke, he thought. Who else fell asleep to the drip, drip, drip of invisible blood? The Italian prayers of an old lady killed in a car crash while visiting her family in America? Who else had hands that spluttered blue and laughed in terror when a hoard of ghosts descended upon them, skeletal fingers digging trenches in his skin, clawing at his eyes and his throat and his ribs? Who else lived when it seemed every force on earth and beyond wanted them dead? Klaus didn't think there was any other person out there that death single handedly did not want, but yet drowned him in it every day. 

Klaus collapsed onto his bed, throwing his arms out and staring up at his ceiling. "To keep at hand whatever it was the mountains meant and maybe that was love and maybe that was longing," he muttered, lips curling upwards. It was something a ghost had murmured to him from the ages of six to twelve. Part of a poem, he suspected, because that woman came out with the most poetic things. Klaus decided he missed her. She hadn't been cruel or mean. She had said beautiful and tragic things he couldn't understand, retold poems or made her own, and it was almost relaxing. He almost missed when things were like that. Before he met the ghosts that wanted to drag him down, down, down.

A shudder ran through his body, the phantom of a cold draft chilling him to his core. Oh, how those ghosts wanted him dead. The mausoleum had opened a whole other door for him to the realm of the dead. It brought to light the ones that had their contact with humanity severed for so long Klaus simply couldn't call them human, for that wasn't what they were anymore. At the very least, it didn't seem like they were. Maybe part of the reason, even if he didn't know it, for not attending the funeral and not returning to the academy was because of them. They had followed him from the mausoleum to the academy, and they lost him when he melted himself in drugs, only surviving in his mind and in nightmares. He wasn't sure what he would do if he returned to the academy and those... things returned to his side as well. 

Klaus laughed. Ben wouldn't tell anyone if it sounded more like a sob. What did it matter? They'd find him again some day, even if that was simply once God decided to kill him off. They'd always find him. 

Klaus pressed his hands into his eyes, digging his nails into his skin, and he growled through his grinding teeth. "Shut up," he moaned, "shut up, shut up, shut up. Shut up!" He whirled onto his side, coming face to face with the muttering murderer from his living room. "You're dead! Fuck off!"

The ghost stared at him, halting in his muttering. Klaus didn't want to hear how he shot his child. He didn't want to hear how his wife had screamed and begged. Oh, God, he thought, what if the entire family came to him as well? Child ghosts had been fine to deal with when he was a child, before he realised that he was looking at a real child who had died too early. The man stared, blood dripping out of his torso and pooling on the floor beside his bed, splattering Klaus as it bubbled past his lips. Then he spoke, words rapidly spilling from his mouth. His wife was named Amy. She was a gorgeous woman, the perfect wife in a misogynist's eyes, except she wanted to go out with her friends more, wanted to do her own thing, and he wasn't happy with that. So he hurt her pretty face until one day he snapped and pulled out his gun. He'd shot their son first, thirteen years old and hiding from his parents yelling in his bedroom. Amy had pulled their five year old daughter from her bed, held her close and pleaded for him to stop. He'd shot his wife in the shoulder, made her watch him shoot their daughter as she phoned the police, and then he had shot her in the stomach and beat her to death. He had been covered in their blood as he went outside and he had shot at one police officer and gotten mowed down.

Klaus clamped his hands over his ears, streaking blood down his face, and he hummed to himself. He hummed louder than the mans muttering and then tip toed over to the record player on his dresser. He slid a record on it, turning it up to full volume and listening to  _The Ink Spots_ battle against the murderer. He fluttered his eyes closed, humming  _I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire_ and clapping his hands over his ears, swaying to the beat, his skirt flowing around his thighs. He ignored the ghost in favour of the music, purposefully humming loud enough to hurt his throat. He rocked his hips, trembling hands fumbling to light a cigarette and hold it between his lips. He folded his arms around his torso in a mock version of a self-hug, drumming his fingers along his sides, head tipping back, smoke billowing past his lips and clinging to his room. 

He was fine. He was great. His body clung onto the remnants of his high and made his room spin faster than he actually was, and Ben was watching the city lights twinkle outside the window and he could ignore the murderer. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a fierce smile, amused sigh sliding out of his throat, and he told himself one last time that he was fine. Amazing.

 

 

 

 

He simply wanted a donut again. He had played his record four times before he had composed himself enough to grin at the ghosts and wave his _goodbye_ hand in its face. He decided that, if anything, he deserved a god damn donut. He knew Griddy's was open twenty-four hours a day, so he had more than enough time to gel his hair up, pull his heeled boots on, and slung his beloved fur jacket over his shoulders. He wiped dampness away from under his eyes, framed his face with his hands in the mirror and ran his hands down his sides before blowing a kiss to his reflection. He touched up his lipstick and eyeliner, messily swiping some glittery purple eyeshadow over his eye lids. He stepped through the murderer, gesturing for Ben to come with him as he left his apartment.

He could feel Ben's eyes burning into him, and he ignored him. His brother knew better than to question him by now. 

The streets were empty as Klaus made his way to the old donut shop, a breeze chilling his hot veins and flushed cheeks. Music drifted from buildings that called his name, and any other time he might find himself drifting into the parties and raves, but tonight he was on a mission. Perhaps on the way back, he thought, but he continued on his way to the donut shop. 

No one else was there yet, and he took a seat up at the counter, waiting for the woman to come back out from the kitchen. He crossed one leg over the other, tipping his foot in a little rhythm, and when the owner of the donut shop finally did come back out, Klaus greeted her with a grin.

"Back again?" She asked, and Klaus grinned.

"I just can't get enough of your donuts, what can I say?" He replied, resting his chin atop his hands and waggling his eyebrows at her. "How's about a milkshake and a chocolate donut, huh?" He asked, shooting her a wink. The woman chuckled affectionately, nodding her head. 

"Of course. One second." She disappeared back into the kitchen and Klaus let his eyes roam around the place, the flickering lights and the dark streets outside, Ben sitting down beside him and rereading his book for the millionth time.

"You know," said Klaus, "maybe if I burnt a book it would count as dead and you could read it."

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the page in front of him. "I don't think inanimate objects can die, Klaus."

"Don't you want to try?" Ben frowned, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. 

"Maybe... later," he shrugged, and Klaus hummed in acknowledgement, bobbing his head in a heavy nod. He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened and a man entered, wearing a dirty garage jumpsuit and groaning heavily as he settled into a chair near Klaus, eying him cautiously. Klaus offered him a grin like a Cheshire cat, waving his _hello_ hand, and the man was more than happy to look away. 

Agnus returned shortly after, holding a tall glass with a chocolate milkshake and a small plate with a donut on it, and she slid it in front of Klaus. 

"Thanks, angel," he said, reaching for the milkshake and sipping the sweet concoction. She took the other mans order when the door went, again, but Klaus was more focused on devouring his milkshake and donut. He decided he had made the right decision. Griddy's had amazing food and amazing milkshakes that he couldn't obtain at a rave. It was only when Ben spoke up that he looked.

"Uh, Klaus? Not to alarm you, but... Five's here."

Klaus' eyebrows drew together and he sat up, spinning in his chair to look at the new customer. Indeed, he came face to face with little Number Five, scrutinising him. Klaus jumped, seat toppling and almost falling right over had Klaus not lashed out and grabbed the counter.

"Oh, shit," he spluttered, leaning forwards to scrutinise Five right back. He looked at Ben. "He finally show up, huh?"

Ben shook his head. "No, he's not a ghost," he said. "He's... alive."

Klaus gave him a sceptical look. "He's thirteen," he stated. Ben shrugged.

"Yeah, well... it's not the weirdest thing we've seen," he commented. Klaus hummed.

"I guess so. He's just... staring at me."

Five blinked. His eyes flicked to the empty air where Ben stood, unseen, and then back to Klaus. He glanced down to his hands, back to his face. "Klaus?" 

"Uh... hi, Five," he said, waving his hands. "I'm not hallucinating, am I? I'm like, not even high anymore."

His brother stared at him for several more moments. "You weren't at the funeral," he stated. Klaus groaned, closing his eyes and spinning around in the little bar seat. 

"Nice to see you too," he snorted. He took another sip from his milkshake. "Glad to see you haven't changed in the however many years it's been. Quite literally, too." 

Five rolled his eyes, leaning forwards. "Where were you? No, never mind that. You need to leave."

Klaus furrowed his eyebrows. He ripped his donut in half and tore another smaller piece from one half of it, plopping it into his mouth. Swallowing it, he asked: "why?"

Five looked around, glancing back at the door. "You just need to leave. Right now. It's dangerous."

Klaus pursed his lips together, rocking his head side to side. Then he kicked his feet up onto the counter, heels clicking against it. "Nah."

Five blinked at him incredulously. "Yes."

Klaus shook his head. "Nah."

"This isn't up for discussion, Klaus," Five hissed.

"I know. My answer stands." 

He watched as the other man in the place paid for his stuff and seemed eager to get out, leaving Number Four and Number Five to sit in the diner. Finally, Five sighed, reaching over and taking the other half of Klaus' donut despite his brother's hiss as he did so.

"Why didn't you come to the funeral?" He asked, and Klaus looked at his milkshake, swirling the straw around in it. It was a plastic straw, too, and Klaus wrinkled his nose up. At least he couldn't see animal ghosts. He let out a dramatic sigh, slumping over the counter.

"I already know what happened. One and Two fought like children, Three sided with One and whatever he said. They all agreed Four - hi, that's me - was off getting high." He spread his hands out with a grin. "Are you gonna tell me that's _not_ what happened?"

Five pressed his lips together and Klaus snickered to himself. "Numbers, huh?" Five commented. "Since when did you start using their numbers?"

Klaus tipped his head to the side. He had no idea. "I have no idea. But hey, want to explain to me, dear brother, your whole situation?"

The brunette sighed. "If you'd been at the funeral, you would have known. But I really can't blame you. When we were thirteen, I time travelled to the future. I got stuck there for fourty-five years. I only just now managed to return to my original time line, which, for you guys, has only been sixteen years. During the process, I somehow reverted back to my original body, too."

Klaus blinked. He looked at Ben. There was something in Ben's eye that Klaus both didn't like and wanted to encourage. "So, you're old now?" He stated, turning back to Five. Five snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Of course that's what you take from it. Yes, my consciousness is fifty-eight." 

Klaus hummed thoughtfully, going to say something else, but the door opening once more stopped him. He watched Five go tense, watching the reflection of the new customers in the bell. Klaus wasn't as sly. He spun around in his chair, sipping his milkshake and tapping his heel.

"Oh. They have guns," he said intelligently, staring into the barrel of one pointed at his head. Beside him, Five huffed a breath.

"That was fast," he commented, "I thought I'd have more time."

The man with a gun pointed at Five spoke up. "So let's be professional about this. On your feet and come with us. They want to talk."

"I've got nothing to say," Five said, and he reached out, taking the last part of Klaus' donut and dropping it into his mouth.

"Hey!" Klaus whined. "I paid for that, you prick." He sighed, setting his milkshake down. 

"It doesn't have to be this way," said the man again, completely ignoring Klaus. "You think I want to shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?" 

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "You already have," he pointed out, if anything by the teenager - no older than fifteen - standing behind him with a single gunshot wound between his eyes. The man turned to look at him, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

Klaus shrugged. "You already have," he repeated. The man staggered over his words and Five spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," he said, eyes lingering on Klaus curiously. "You won't be going home. Klaus, get over the counter."

As quick as a flash, Five reached out, taking a butter knife on the counter and disappearing behind the man to thrust it into his neck. The man cried, gun spraying the walls, and Klaus dropped off his chair and to the ground. The lights began flickering as chaos ensued, and Klaus pressed his back against the counter, watching with his hands clamped over his mouth to muffle his laughs.

"Oh, shit," he gasped, lips spreading wide, "wow, okay. Okay."

He ducked as a bullet narrowly missed him and, ignoring both Five and Ben's advice to stay safe, he crawled out and clambered onto his feet again, throwing himself at the closest person. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, almost as good as a hit of pure heroin, and he hardly noticed the throbbing in his head as he head butted one guy, yanking his gun out of his hand and throwing it to the floor. His hands flickered blue and Ben, appearing from behind Klaus like a shadow, blood from his death maturing his features and making him look very much like a murderous ghost, glared down at the opponent.

"Boo," said Klaus, waggling his fingers, and then he threw his hand out. The man lifted a few feet off the ground, flailing his arms out desperately, and then with a flick of Klaus' wrist, the man slammed into the far wall, smashing through the window and not getting back up. Klaus let the glow fall from his hands, clapping them together like a child in a toy store. As he took a moment to gather himself and share a grin with Ben, he realised that the music that had been playing quietly in the little café had gotten louder, and he gasped.

"Oh! I love this song!" He extended a hand to an approaching gunman, and his hand drowned in a misty blue. The gun flew out of the mans grasp, and against his will, the man drifted towards Klaus, hovering a few inches above the ground. "Won't you dance with me?" He asked, and he spun around, spinning his finger and making the man spin too, fast and rapidly until Klaus thought he might throw up. Then he threw him up into the ceiling with enough force that a crack spider-webbed across the ceiling, dust raining down, and Klaus didn't miss a beat with the music. His skirt flared out around his thighs, heels tapping on the floor as he danced around bullets with seemingly no fear. All that would happen if he got shot was he'd catch a glimpse of a monochrome setting in the 70's, have a brief chat with God as she picked strawberries, and then he'd be back as good as new. Death didn't matter to Klaus anymore, not when death didn't want him permanently.

He hurried to the second last man, trying to sneak up on Five who was busy having a tango with the last man. He threw his arm around the guy's shoulders like one might to a friend. "What ya doing there, bud? It almost looks like you were about to hurt little Five," he mused, and the guy's lips moved silently before he threw his head back, followed by a punch. Klaus staggered, spitting curses as his hand went up to his bleeding nose, and he glared at the man.

" _Ow_ ," he hissed, "that _hurt_ , you bitch." He returned the punch with one of his own, gritting his teeth together. He had always gotten angry whenever someone slapped or punched him in the face. He didn't know why, but it always seemed to tick him off, so he had no worry about holding any of his punches back on the man. He tore the gun from his grip, throwing it back, and grinned, blood dripping down his painted lips as the man floated a few feet off the ground, clawing at an invisible force around his neck. 

"Now would be suitable for an 'I am your father' joke," he said, tilting his head to the side, his voice dangerously low, "but I never did like Star Wars. So, fuck you." He let the man drop to the ground, unconscious. He didn't kill them; he wasn't about to make more ghosts haunt him. If Five wanted them dead, he could snap their necks himself. Speaking of; Klaus turned around, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and looking around. He spotted Five taking his tie back from a mans neck and then going over the few still-breathing people, twisting their necks easily. Then, with a sigh, he stood up. His eyes landed on Klaus.

"You're bleeding," he said, and Klaus nodded.

"Just a little nose bleed," he said, shaking a drop of blood off his finger. "Don't be worried about little old me."

"You just fought a bunch of gunmen," he added. Klaus glanced around, nudging a gun with the two of his boot.

"Yup. I did. Oh, that was a rush," he grinned, stretching his arms up. "I've not been really roughed up in a while, that was great."

Five scrutinised him, eyes narrowed. "You have... telekinesis?"

"I do indeed," confirmed Klaus, flexing his hands. "The more you know."

Five was silent for a moment, something glinting in his eyes. Klaus turned away, finding his milkshake intact on the counter. With a victorious grin, Klaus snatched it up, taking a long sip. Five fell silent, turning to search the bodies before he came out with a blinking tracker. 

"I need you to help me do something," he said, rolling his sleeves up. He leaned over the counter, searching for something, and then he came back with a sharp kitchen knife. He sat down and held the knife out to Klaus, blade pinched between his fingers, hilt offered.

Klaus took the knife, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, what exactly am I doing with a knife? You should be asking Diego," he said, leaning beside him against the counter. 

"I need you to cut me," he said, and Klaus hesitated. He raised his eyebrows, then furrowed them, pressing his lips together. He shook his head and then shrugged, coming closer.

"Sure, whatever."

Five held up a hand. "Not just anywhere, you psychopath. Right... here." He pointed at a specific point on his arm, watching Klaus. "About an inch deep. Then pull out the chip that's there." 

Klaus narrowed his eyes at Five. "I'm not even going to ask," he muttered. He reached out with his free hand, tugging Five's tie off and shoving his sleeve higher. He tied the tie around his bicep with skill, and then he lined up the tip of the blade with where Five pointed out. "Inch deep, inch deep," he muttered to himself. He pressed down slowly, widened the cut, and then set the bloody knife down on the counter. He reached down with his skinny fingers, pinching the hard chip in the wound, and he pulled it out. When Five nodded his head to say he was done, Klaus untied his tie from his bicep, only to tie it around the wound.

Klaus held up the blinking chip, turning it around in his blood stained fingers. "Do I get to know what just happened and why? Not that I really care, but I am curious now."

Five raised an eyebrow, pulling his sleeve back down his arm. He pressed his lips together. "Can I talk to you seriously?" He asked.

"Probably not."

Five regarded him for a moment. "Maybe later," he said, standing up. He took the chip from Klaus and strode towards the door, weaving around bodies. "You might want to leave before the police show up. I... I'll explain it later. Just not right now." 

Klaus watched him step outside, linger a second, and then disappear into thin air. Klaus put his hands on his hips, sighing. "What a mess," he sighed, nudging a corpse with his foot. He pulled his wallet out, pulling out more money than his donut or milkshake costed, and he put it on the counter before leaving. He dabbed his fingers by his nose, checking if it was still bleeding. He glanced to Ben, silent and deep in thought, almost looking... angry, perhaps.

"Think I need to get cleaned up?" He asked. "Before a little disco?"

Ben glanced at him. "Definitely," he said, and Klaus chuckled.

"Let's do that, then. It was nice catching up with our dear brother, but I'm tapping out of everything tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you did enjoy, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I appreciate it very much!


	3. Nothing To Tie Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have returned, and I am sorry for the break.

"You should be grateful. I'm doing this for you. I could have been making out with a really hot guy right now, but instead I'm here, talking to you. _Trying_ to talk to you, I mean."

Klaus stared at Ben's back, his legs swung over the arm of his couch. A bottle of vodka rested on his stomach, his nails tapping against it. Ben often had moods like these, where he perfectly encompassed the brooding ghost he was, but most of the times Klaus never bothered trying to talk to him about it. Usually, Ben would disappear for a few hours and come back fine, and they wouldn't talk about it. Klaus thought that he was entitled to be a bit moody sometimes, even if it annoyed him. After all, Klaus was the one with a hard drug addiction, past homelessness, and a hoard of undead spirits that wanted to tear him limb from limb. Ben got a free pass around the world.

"Was it seeing Five again? I'm still not entirely convinced that I didn't just have an extremely vivid hallucination. Did Five piss you off? Or have you simply come to the light and agree with me that our family in general are all pieces of shit?"

Ben sighed, turning to look at him from his spot by the window. He still seemed to be drowning in his own blood, taking a while for his original ghostly form to clean up and turn back into the lovable form of a clean, intact Number Six. Klaus grimaced and took a healthy swig from his vodka, nose wrinkling up at the harsh taste. "Well?" He asked. He sat up with a groan, fumbling for his cigarettes and lighting one. After taking a drag of it, he held it out with an eyebrow raised as if it was a peace offering. Ben rolled his eyes but stepped forwards, trailing blood across the floor as he became corporeal. The couch dipped as he sat down next to Klaus, accepting the offered cigarette and pressing it between his lips. 

"Everything's just... insane," he muttered, staring at the smouldering cigarette in his hand. Klaus laughed.

"Well, _yeah_. You're a ghost smoking a cigarette next to your incredibly hot, drug addict brother who can commune with the dead and spoke to God. Of course everything's insane."

Ben snorted, rolling his eyes. He took another drag of the cigarette before handing it back to Klaus. He scrubbed his hands down his face, smearing blood down his cheeks. Klaus watched smoke twirl up into the air, tapping excess ash into an ash tray in front of him. "Anything else on your mind, my dear?" He asked. He pulled his feet up onto his couch, crossing his legs at his ankles. Ben's fingers flexed over his thigh, jaw clenched. 

"I'm not sure I should be upset that you missed the funeral."

Klaus clapped his hands together. "Aha! So you _have_ come to the light!" He exclaimed victoriously. "I told you our family's fucking horrific. We're the only good people."

Ben scoffed. "I wouldn't call us _good_ , Klaus. You're a drug addict and I'm dead."

Klaus hummed, tipping his head side to side. "Potato, tomato, whatever. At least I'm having a good time." Ben raised an eyebrow sceptically and Klaus spread his hands out innocently. 

Ben sighed, turning his head to the side and looking away. "He didn't even ask if you were alright," he muttered. He offered a shrug, leaning back in the chair. "I guess it's just... odd to see him after so long. To see any of our siblings in so long. I'm still annoyed by how they treated you." He ran his tongue along his teeth, shaking his head to himself. Klaus raised his eyebrows.

"Don't even worry about it, Benny. I'm the junkie, we already know this." He rolled his eyes jokingly and Ben glared at him, eyes dark. Klaus held his hands up in defence, leaning back on the couch. "Was just saying..."

"It doesn't matter, Klaus," he said, turning to look out the window again. His hand curled into a fist and then flattened, repeating the tic in frustration. "I... remember when you got arrested? The first time, it wasn't even your fault. Not a single one of them came to help you. Not even Diego, and he was still in the police academy." His lips curled away from his teeth in a sneer of disdain, his eyes narrowed and cold. Klaus grimaced at the memory; that hadn't been a fun time. His first arrest hadn't actually been his own fault, and not a single one of his family members had come to help him. Both he and Ben had been angry. Jail was not a good place for Klaus. 

Klaus waved a hand. His anger about that still festered beneath his ribs, bubbling through his veins and turning into something dark, enough so that it rolled off him and the ghosts around him even sneered in anger at them. "Well, the past is the past is the past, and all that," he said. "Look, if we're done, I would love to go get some drugs. If not; let's speed this up."

Ben narrowed his eyes at him in irritation, shaking his head. "Klaus," he groaned, and Klaus grinned innocently, spreading his hands out.

" _What_?"

"I'm fairly certain you're still high. I don't know how you couldn't not be," he stated, folding his arms across his chest. Klaus hummed and shrugged.

"I mean, I most certainly am, my dear. I can feel my teeth and I can't feel my toes, so I most certainly am. But... still. I love drugs. I want to feel my wings." He threw his hands out by his side, arching his back on the chair and staring up at the ceiling while Ben rolled his eyes.

"You don't have wings."

"I'm fairly sure I used to. I've flown before, Ben. That's what cocaine does to you. And I want it back." He ran his hands down his sides, shimmying on the seat and swaying his head side to side. Ben scrubbed his hands down his face, shaking his head. 

"Whatever," he eventually grumbled, throwing his hands up in defeat. Klaus raised a brow slightly at his surprisingly easy win, and he tipped his bottle of vodka towards his brother in some kind of cheers.

"I can drink to that," he stated, and then he took a swig. "I think... I think..." Klaus pursed his lips in thought, looking up at the popcorn-textured ceiling over his head. "I think... that we should... travel. Go somewhere."

"Such as?"

Klaus shrugged helplessly. "Dunno. Somewhere. If something's big enough to pull the fam back together, we oughta leave."

"Maybe you should go," Ben mused. Klaus lifted his head to glare at him.

"What? You just said that you hated them."

"I didn't. I said I was angry at them."

"Same thing, really."

"Shut up." Ben dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and Klaus hummed, letting his eyes drift from him.

"I mean, really, Ben. Why would we? What'll happen? They'll call me crazy and pathetic, and then Diego'll try and bash Luther's brains in and it'll go the opposite way. Allison'll only talk about herself, Vanya will get ignored - oh, shit. We should see her, actually. I admire her book. Just fuckin' spill all of our dirty little secrets." Klaus wheezed a laugh, his chest heaving thinly. His laughter turned into something unhinged and bitter, going on for much longer than he intended. By the time his laughter came to a wheezing halt, tears were streaming down his cheeks and Ben had returned to the window with his back to him. "Oh," wheezed Klaus, swiping tears away. "Oh, God, fuck us. We're so fucked, huh? _They're_ so fucked, too. Wonder if dear ol' daddy is proud."

Klaus rested a thin hand over his chest, catching his breath. He stroked his other hand down the thick bottle of liquor resting on his stomach in some parody of a loving caress, and then he lifted it to his lips. "You'd think he'd have shown himself by now, huh?" Ben suddenly said, eyes flitting around the room as if he expected their father to suddenly materialise somewhere in the room. "Ready to yell at the two of us."

Klaus scoffed at that. "Oh, Christ. Do you think if I die I'll turn into a ghost? Or just go right to Hell? Because I'd rather the second option than being haunted by dad forever."

"Last time you checked, you miraculously avoided permanent death at every opportunity."

Klaus hummed. "Unfortunate for me, then." Ben gave him a half hearted glare. "Or, maybe dad's just waiting for some trouble. Waiting for me to kick his ashes about, or for Diego to stab Luther, or Allison to go lie her life away or some shit. Let's go to Mexico. No, I think Allison has a house there. Russia? We could join the mafia. That would be fun." 

"We?"

"Yes,  _we._ You can phase through walls and shit if you concentrate hard enough. Last time someone tried to kill me I bounced back. We'd be unstoppable. We'd be rich, and do you know how much dick rich people can get?"

"That's called prostitution, Klaus."

Klaus frowned. " _No_. It's called _persuasion_." He rolled his eyes and took a swig of the liquor still in his hands. He swung his legs off the couch and rose unsteadily to his feet, bottle of vodka slamming down onto the stained coffee table. A drop splashed through a smoky figure of a deceased old acquaintance of Klaus', whom glared at that as if he could even feel the drop of liquor as it fell through him. He trudged around his apartment, digging his hands into every nook and cranny, until he plucked something from the floor just beneath his couch. He eyed the thin syringe and the remaining drop of some mixture inside it. Somewhere over his shoulder, Ben groaned.

"Klaus, that's just disgusting. You're not that desperate," he said, sounding like half a plea. "I'd literally rather you go out and buy something new than use that."

Klaus' tongue dashed across his lips as he fell backwards onto his couch, one hand fumbling for his belt, discarded on the floor. "Only need a little bit," he murmured, "not a full hit. Just need to sleep."

"You're disgusting."

Klaus grinned. "You know it better than anyone else." He glanced up, placed the syringe between his teeth, and rubbed his hand over the mess of half-collapsed veins in the crook of his elbow. "If I die I give you full permission to desecrate my corpse before God kicks me back out." He blew across the tip of the needle as if that cleaned it, and with that, Klaus pressed it into a receptive vein.

 

 

 

_"Three weeks. A new personal record," drawled God, Her face deadpanned and unamused. Sitting up in the grass, Klaus blew out a breath. Sometimes, Klaus wondered if he was so reckless with his drugs because of this. Death. Here, he felt amazing. No ache in his bones, no ringing in his ears, no exhaustion, no hatred, no fear, no pain. He felt better than he had in close to two decades. It was more addicting than the drugs themselves._

_"You know me. I just so love our chats," he said with a loopy grin._

_"This is getting dangerous, Klaus," the girl said with a shake of Her head. "A human isn't suppose to die as much as you do. You don't belong here."_

_"Don't belong down there either, though. Normal humans don't see ghosts."_

_Her lips pressed together in a tight line across Her face. "It's going to go wrong, one of these days."_

_Klaus shrugged carelessly. "Look forwards to it. So, you sending me back or not? Not that I'd really mind; I love this vibe you've got here." Last time he'd seen Her, She had had a 1920s vibe going on. Now, it seemed to be the fifties. She sighed, nodded, and waved Her hand._

 

 

 

"Told you that was a bad idea." Ben's sarcastic tone greeted him as he woke up - revived? - coughing and shaking, heart pounding furiously with its sudden revival. There was still that pleasant after-death haze in his mind, enough so he could overlook the onslaught of his body working again. 

"Whatever. Add a point to your table." 

And Ben did. The coffee table was a mess of stains, most alcohol, some suspiciously dark, and, with the little pen knife, there was a table with the headings  _Klaus / Ben._ Underneath Ben's name lay dozens of tally marks. Underneath Klaus' lay four. Ben, after Klaus focused enough to make him corporeal, grabbed the pen knife and cut a tally mark into the coffee table. At this rate, Klaus thought, he was going to need to steal another coffee table to add to the end of it.

"What time is it?" Klaus asked. His throat was dry and rough, and he hauled himself reluctantly to his feet and staggered into the kitchen, where he grabbed a carton of apple juice, unscrewed it, and greedily downed half of it until he was satisfied.

"Just after eight, I think," came Ben's response. 

"Oh, goody. I love an early morning start." Klaus shoved the apple juice back into the fridge and made his way to his bathroom, where he found his Walkman and headphones. He slipped them on, pressed play, and while his bathtub began to fill up, washing ominous red stains, Klaus set about, humming, fumbling with his clothes, and lighting candles. A cigarette found its way between his lips and he poured a generous amount of bubble mixture into his bathtub, and then he stepped inside the tub. Makeup, grime, and glitter slid off him, dirtying the water beneath the bubbles, and Klaus stayed in the serenity of the tub until the water was beginning to get cold. Only then did he pull the plug and focus on knotting a towel around his hips to avoid making eye contact with the corpse in his shower, bleeding from his wrists, and then he gravitated to his bedroom. 

"What outfit for today then, brother?" He hummed. He set his headphones aside and instead turned his radio on for the background noise, and he swung open the doors to his wardrobe. His hands settled upon his narrow hips. The ghost in question phased through the wall to his right rather than taking the door, and he peered into the mess of clothes that was his wardrobe.

"I wouldn't say we've got a similar fashion sense," he commented.

"I wouldn't say you can change your clothes," replied Klaus. "But for me." 

Ben rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Have you got a plan for today?"

"Hmm..." He had considered the thought while he had been in the bath, though thinking during bath time was usually a no-go for him; bath time was his time to utterly destress without overdosing, and thinking of anything, let alone his family, was a strict no-no. Nonetheless, he had considered them. He hadn't seen anything of them in person for years - save for Five, who might not have been a hallucination, apparently, which was, to put it lightly, fucking wild - and it might be  _interesting._ He would simply have to talk to someone first, because there was no way he was going there sober, but perhaps he could entertain them if he was high or drunk enough. If they got annoying, he would simply leave.

He came to the conclusion, though, that had Five not appeared last night, he wouldn't even be thinking about this. But Five's reappearance with  _enemies_ had caught his interest, and it had been hard to get the blood out of his clothes (he assumed, anyway. He hadn't tried to clean them and he probably wouldn't bother for a few weeks, until John came around, chastised him, took pity and coerced him into doing some laundry) and he deserved an explanation at the very least. 

"What are you thinking?" Ben asked, eyes narrowing. Since his death and Klaus' runaway and the subsequent shit treatment from his family, his addictions and death experiences, Ben had become what one could call  _protective._ He didn't like not knowing what Klaus was thinking or what he was doing or planning, afraid that he was about to blindly watch his brother walk into some death trap. Klaus had become accustomed to this by now, however.

"Maybe we should pay our family a visit, is all," Klaus shrugged. "Five really wasn't a hallucination?"

Ben shook his head.

"Well, in that case, I want an explanation. Think I deserve one, too."

Ben's lips pursed, eyes flitting briefly away. "Suppose so," he agreed unenthusiastically. Klaus scrutinised him. All traces of blood and gore from his corporation in Griddy's was gone, leaving him the lovable deceased brother that he was. Though Klaus was also accustomed to blood and gore, and often times on his own brother, it didn't mean it was necessarily a pleasant sight. 

"Day sorted, then," Klaus said with a grin. He turned his attention once more to his wardrobe, and it took him just as long as it usually did to figure out his outfit.

In the end, he found a fishnet shirt he thought he'd worn to a rave once and that ended along his ribs, and he struggled into a pair of skin tight leather trousers that had a black rose-patterned lace around his knees and down the sides of his legs. When a glance out his window told him it didn't look entirely warm outside, he threw on a calf-length jacket with feather trims, and donned a pair of studded boots that he had  _borrowed_ from someone years ago and forgotten to return. Satisfied with his outfit, Klaus then settled himself in front of the cracked dresser mirror and carefully applied a midnight black lipstick, grabbed his trusty eyeliner pencil and smudged it around his eyes. The darkness of his clothes contrasted starkly with the snowy pallor of his skin, as cold and pale as a corpse's (Klaus wondered, sometimes, whether he was more dead than alive) and it accentuated the hollowness of his cheeks, the haunted look in his eyes and the feral grin his lips curled into. Then he blew a kiss to his reflection, stood, heavy boots thudding loudly with each step.

Beneath a loose floor board he found a small baggie with a handful of colourful pills with fun prints on them, and he placed two onto his tongue. He sought out Ben in the corner of his vision.

"Family reunion?" He asked. 

Ben's face was dark, shadowed by the hood he had pulled over his head. Wordlessly, he nodded, and when Klaus left his apartment, Ben followed like a shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this fic still exists, huh? I am sorry for the ridiculous break, but, uh. Here's an update? Sorry for it being shorter, but I wanted to start the next one with Klaus' arrival at the academy.


	4. Not Even Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one! Enjoy!

Standing outside the academy was an even more daunting experience than he had anticipated.

Klaus had not been here for years. He had had every intention of never, ever, returning. And yet here he stood but only a few feet from the large, ajar gates to the academy, scrutinising the building. It stood tall and looming, threatening and very unwelcoming to Klaus, and just being here had tension drawing his muscles in his shoulders up. The sky above was bright and baby blue, and the brick building was a dull beige, and its stairs had scuff marks on it. The place held dead memories of masked, uniformed children coming out in a neat line, Number One at the front, Seven at the back, and filing into a car, sometimes a limo. Then they would return and file back inside, Number Six drenched in blood and staining the pavement and stairs, and they would go get cleaned up. Children would race down to the dining room and stand behind their seats, odds on one side, evens on the other, until Reginald told them to sit. 

Klaus retraced his old steps as he came up the stairs.

Those children were long dead. Nothing but haunting memories that lingered, unwelcome, in the back of his mind. 

The building looked more threatening now than it ever had. It did not want Klaus to be there. He nudged the unlocked doors open and the building swallowed him whole as he entered, and he had to force himself to stand up a little straighter. Nothing here could hurt him anymore. 

His boots echoed his footsteps, bouncing around pillars and off marble flooring, loud enough it made up for the lack of sound from Ben's footsteps.

It looked unchanged, untouched. Standing exactly as it had over a decade ago. Perfectly polished and dusted, but now where blazers had once hung up, there were jackets. His siblings were here. No longer the young, naive little children they had once been, but now adults with their own lives, all of which had excluded Klaus from them. It made Klaus grind his teeth together.

There had been many an occasion when Klaus had been wandering the city and Diego or Allison or Vanya had passed. When they caught sight of him or heard him call their name from his lips twisted in a loopy grin, they had blushed in shame to be associated with him, looked away and hurried their pace down the street. 

Despite the high walls and ceilings of the academy, Klaus felt very closed in, very trapped. The academy was like one big cage, one orderly prison. Walking inside felt like walking up to a chopping block, kneeling down in front of a guillotine and placing his neck below the blade. In an off handed thought, Klaus wished more people died from beheadings these days. At least then those ghosts would be quiet. 

He heard voices. Drifting to his ears from the living room, and he was on guard again. 

"Diego, you son of a bitch," growled Luther, his voice deeper than he remembered. The words were still familiar, however.

"Hey, guys, no. Calm down." That was Vanya, her voice hesitant, unsure of herself. Klaus bit back the urge to laugh, his eyes rolling over to Ben who looked disappointed. They couldn't go a day without fighting. "Look, I know dad wasn't exactly an... an open book, but I remember one thing he said. Mom was designed to be a caretaker, and, well, a protector."

"What does that mean?" Allison asked. 

"She was programmed to intervene if someone's life was in jeopardy." Klaus' eyebrows drew together. Had Grace hurt someone? It seemed unlikely. And he remembered, very early in his childhood, a time where Grace had been fiercely protective. And then, one day, she... just hadn't been in most situations. Klaus had not a single doubt in his mind that it had been Reginald to programme her like that. When Ben, Klaus and Diego had fiercely protested their training, Grace had come to convince Reginald to let them be, or to comfort them; come to help them and save them when she felt they were so scared. And one day she had just stood and watched, tense and unmoving, and then continued on her way. But had she been violent to any of them? Not at all. She had been the only one there with her unconditional love, artificial as she may be. 

"Well, if her hardware is degrading, then..." Luther's voice trailed off, and Klaus continued to eavesdrop with Ben, faces slack with shock. "We need to turn her off."

"Whoa," spluttered Diego. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. She's not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw away in a closet, Luther; she feels things, I've seen it!"

"She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father die!"

"I'm with Luther."

"Oh, surprise, surprise," Diego drawled. 

"Shut up," Allison snapped. 

"I - I don't-"

"Yeah, she shouldn't get a vote," Diego interrupted Vanya.

"I was going to say I agreed with you," Vanya sighed.

"Okay, she does," Diego hummed. "Two against one, big boy. You're not touching mom."

"Not everyone's here," Allison suddenly said. "This is a family matter."

"She's right. Five deserves a vote, too," Luther said.

"And if he agrees with you, it's a draw. I'm the only one that can win this, Luther," Diego said. 

"There's Klaus," Vanya commented quietly. Luther scoffed, and Klaus grinned in anticipation.

"He didn't come for dad's funeral and you think you could just, what, phone him from whatever dumpster he's in?" Luther retorted.

"I can't blame him for not coming," Diego muttered.

"Uh... Five - Five said he saw Klaus, last night," Vanya said.

"What?"

"Yeah," Vanya confirmed. "Met him at Griddy's. Didn't say much about him, though. He was a bit busy."

Klaus snorted. Busy was the light way of saying it. Clearing his throat, Klaus rolled his shoulders back, grinned at Ben, and stepped silently into the living room. "I was wondering how long it'd take for you to talk about me," he said, revelling in the way people jumped at his entrance. 

"Klaus," Diego greeted, eyes flicking up and down him in shock.

"The one and only." He did a mock bow, then looked up as Luther began to speak.

"Klaus. What are you doing here?" He asked, anger lacing his words. 

"Can I not visit my family?" Klaus returned, feigning insult.

"You missed the funeral," he growled. Klaus shook his head.

"I didn't miss it. I actively chose not to come, actually," he corrected. Luther's nostrils flared, and Klaus wasn't scared. He was more amused than anything. He had definitely had a growth spurt, height wise and muscle-wise, and yet his head looked tiny compared to his body. He looked like a reverse bobble-head.

"What were you doing that was more important than the death of our dad?"

Klaus gave him a look. "Literally anything is more important than that, Luther," he tsk-ed, then his lips spread in a grin. "Where do you think? High as Heaven, baby. A much better use of my time than faking respects to dad. Now," he hummed, and once Klaus might have grimaced at the way everyone seemed to sigh in exasperation and disappointment at him, but now he grinned wider, "where is Five? I'm only here for that little rascal." 

"Getting high," Luther echoed, shaking his head. "Of course you were."

"Of course I was. Now, I asked a question. Where's Five?" Klaus insisted. He wasn't here to play with Luther's little game. He had come to terms and gotten over his poor relations with his family. Where Klaus once might have back off, felt ashamed at the confrontation of his addictions and mistakes, now he couldn't care less. Or, if anything, he just felt angry. Luther had no right to look so down upon him. Luther, who wasn't locked with dead bodies as a child, who hadn't been vulnerable to the strange but kind men in clubs at a young age, who hadn't seen corpses everywhere he went and faced the shun and disgust of his family when he tried to get rid of them. If Klaus let himself boil over it too much, the temptation to punch him in the face would be overwhelming. 

"Klaus?" Vanya squeaked from behind him, and he twirled around to look at her. She didn't look much different, save for having no bangs and shorter hair. She looked as one might after years of insecurity and isolation. 

"Vanya!" Klaus exclaimed. "Oh, it's been a while, hasn't it? Loved the book, by the way. Wish I had thought of doing that," he complimented genuinely. He really had loved that book. It was a stroke of genius. He reached out to hug her, though the gesture was fleeting. Touch was a foreign thing to Klaus, only known in clubs and the hands of strangers on his hips, but otherwise he never really _liked_ being touched. Hell, even in clubs and with strangers, he didn't really revel in the physical contact. The heat of a living person, definitely. The pleasure they offered, certainly. A reminder other people saw him and that he was alive, but otherwise, touch was a threatening thing to him. An instinctual fear of ghosts being able to tear him apart, he supposed. If he wanted to be touched, he'd simply get Ben and have him corporeal, and they'd sit together, shoulder to shoulder, or interlock their fingers. That was enough for Klaus, and sometimes too much. 

Vanya stammered over her words, and Klaus brushed over it. "Seen Five anywhere?" Vanya shook her head.

"He hasn't come back here since last night," she said. Klaus hummed thoughtfully, hand scratching the nape of his neck.

"Shame. Well, this has been nice, I better be going then. Let you all get back to debating our mother's life, like normal people," Klaus quipped sarcastically. He slinked towards the doors again, only stopping because a hand closed around his wrist. Instantly, he spun around and yanked his hand free of the grip, giving a wide-eyed glare at the culprit. It was not a ghost like he originally believed, but Diego, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Is that it?" He asked. 

"What do you mean? Of course that's it. You don't need me to be here for your little argument." He folded his arms across his chest and watched the shocked expressions of his siblings. Allison seemed speechless, but her eyes were calculating, studying him up and down and trying to pick apart Klaus to find an explanation for his actions. She would be there a long time. He ignored them in favour of Ben, materialising by his side from his little tour around the academy. He looked bitter, and Klaus raised his eyebrows in question.

"Nothing's changed. My statue's broken, though," he informed. Klaus' eyebrows crawled up his forehead. As much as he and Ben joked about that horrendous statue, at the report of it being broken, anger flared through him. They were so petty that they couldn't even take care of their deceased brother's statue. Before his death, Ben had been well liked by them all. Sweet and inquisitive and quiet, he was everyone's friend. And while his personality might have changed after his death, the other's didn't know that. And they still hadn't been bothered to take care of it. 

"Of course," Klaus grumbled. His jaw locked painfully for a moment as he scrutinised his siblings. "Which one of you broke Ben's statue, then?" 

"How do you know that?" Diego asked, but not necessarily defensively. He looked guilty and so did Luther. Of course. Klaus grinned like a predator taunting its pray.

"My dear brother, I know _everything_." 

And Klaus did know many things. Well developed socially with his life on the streets and bouncing between therapy and rehab, he had well developed social skills. He was adept at picking up languages and cooking, and he had always loved to draw. He was good at maths, more so than anyone would expect, and once a guy he dated for a while had tried to teach him the drums. Years of running from police and unpleasant strangers had him a fast runner and able to jump and climb fences with ease. 

And, of course, the ghosts. The ghosts told him everything they knew. He could retell life stories in vivid detail, could spit a few sentences in long dead languages and languages he had never even thought about. He had spoken to deceased celebrities, and that history-changing man whose memorial statue he had walked past once, and he had talked to victims of horrific tragedies. He could, if he bothered, fix the points historians had gotten wrong, and do it from a victim's first hand account.

Ghosts of all ages and origin travelled to Klaus. Some were blind with rage and grief, seeking him out because he was a beacon to the dead, and begging him to listen to their story and fix it, like that one Holocaust victim who had found him and told him everything in vivid detail, and screamed over her children she'd been forced to choose between, until Klaus was sobbing hysterically with her. Shortly after, though, she had disappeared, and Klaus wondered if sharing her story and having time with someone to grieve had helped her find some peace. Occasionally, he thought of her and her children, and felt terribly bad that he couldn't do anything for them. Sometimes, ghosts were content. They accepted their state and were content to drift as an observer around the world, but sought him out of curiosity, and they simply chatted like acquaintances, or they watched him curiously from the shadows before returning to drifting around. Sometimes they were furious, which was most common for murderers or violent criminals, and they sought him out to brag and try to hurt him. 

In the end, though, they told him everything. 

Sometimes Klaus felt giddy with power. Giddy with power because he _was_ powerful, if he wanted to be. If he wanted to, if he focused hard enough, then he might be able to shift the support beams in the academy and bring it all crashing down simply with his mind. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have the energy to move out of the way after doing that, but God would just kick him back out of Heaven. He had knowledge that could tear people apart. And no one knew that Klaus could do or knew these things. 

"One day," Klaus continued, dropping the hateful grin. "One day, and you broke Ben's statue. Christ. I didn't think highly of you before, but at least high enough not to put your pig-headed fighting in front of your dead brother's statue." He shook his head, ground his teeth, and regarded them with discontent.

"Klaus-" Allison began, her voice hesitant but picking up. 

"Don't bother. I didn't come here for you lot, or for dad. I came for Five, and he's not here, so adios, mon frères et sœurs." He gave a half-hearted goodbye wave over his shoulder. 

"Klaus," Luther insisted. "Look, we - we need you here right now. I need you to summon dad while you're here."

Klaus spun on his heels, deadpanning. "Fuck off," he snorted. 

"Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be-" 

Klaus placed his hands upon his hips. "Dad isn't here. Even if he was, I wouldn't talk to him."

"You need to at least _try_ ," Luther insisted. Klaus pursed his lips. 

"I don't think I do." 

"Klaus-"

"Look, Luther," Klaus hissed. "I don't summon ghosts. _They_ come to me. If dad wanted to show himself, he would. Don't be so surprised that he doesn't care. And," he raised a finger when Luther opened his mouth, pointing it at him, "I don't owe you shit." 

Luther closed his mouth, more so in shock at Klaus' sharp retaliation to him. When he looked around at everyone else, they wore similar faces of surprise. Klaus huffed, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't feel at all satisfied, but he knew that if he kept going, he wouldn't stop. And plus, hadn't he learned anything from rehab therapy? Deep breaths, and all that.

He nodded once, then spun around, heading through the kitchen and into the courtyard. It was still wet outside from the rain last night, puddles gathered on the ground, leaves damp and dripping perfect rain drops, and, sure enough, the remains of Ben's statue scattered around. Klaus' lips turned down into a disapproving scowl, his head shaking, and as he slumped down onto the bench outside, his hand fished into his jacket pocket and found his cigarettes. He lit one and balanced it between his lips, inhaling deeply, and spared Ben a glance as he sat down next to him.

"Came all this way and Five isn't even here," Klaus grumbled. Ben scoffed lightly. 

"Your luck, huh?"

"Just my luck." Klaus scrubbed a hand down his face. "Do you think that was enough to get them to leave me alone forever?"

Ben gave him a look. "You say that is if they've spoken to you in the last five years." Klaus grimaced at that, then snorted. 

"Yeah..." He took a drag of his cigarette, then rested his chin upon the heel of his other hand. "Find anything interesting looking around?" 

"Nothing's changed," Ben said. "At all. Other than my statue, anyway." He frowned at its bronze remains, and Klaus sighed.

"Bastards," Klaus muttered. He tapped ash from his cigarette, watching it flutter down to disappear on the floor between his toes. "The lot of them. At least you don't have to deal with them."

"I'm dead."

Klaus gave his brother a look. "May I remind you that I've died more than you. Maybe not as unpleasantly, sure, you can tab that in the table when we get home, but," he jabbed a finger at him, "I've died more."

Ben rolled his eyes in unamusement. "Do you think we should try and find Five?" He asked. Klaus pressed his lips together, then shrugged.

"I dunno where he'd be. Other than having psychos straight out of Area 51 chasing him again, I couldn't say. Where does a fifty-eight year old murderer time-traveller go to in his spare time?" He quirked an eyebrow, clasped his hands together and rested his cheek on the back of his hands. 

"Wasn't nearby here, anyway." 

"Damn. It's pretty unfair, having me cut open his arm to take out a tracker and then just leave without telling us the story. Pretty rude of him, to be honest." He took a drag of his cigarette, then stomped it out beneath his foot. He twitched as a door creaked open behind him, turning to watch as Diego drifted out of the door, looking conflicted as he lingered, before powering forwards. "Oh, company. Might want to stand before he sits on you," Klaus commented sarcastically. Ben grumbled beneath his breath but stood, stepping to Klaus' other side. Sure enough, Diego lowered himself onto the bench, hands resting on his thighs.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. 

"Someone was bound to say that to Luther one of these days," Diego stated. He avoided looking at Klaus, his head tilted slightly away.

"Yeah, well. I was bound to tell him that sooner or later," replied Klaus. He studied Diego curiously, eying him up and down. He didn't look at all different, except maybe a little chubbier than his runaway and police academy days, though all that black he wore made him look more well muscled than anything.

"You look... different."

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Do I?" He queried. "I don't think I do."

Diego pressed his lips together, brown eyes flitting briefly to Klaus. His tongue dashed out across his dry lips and he nodded his head. "Yes. Not - not physically. Has something happened?"

Klaus had to restrain himself from laughing. _Now_ he cared? After all these years. His teeth ground together for a moment. "Oh, you could say that."

"What?" Diego asked, and he held his eye contact now. Klaus laughed this time.

"Why do you care?" He rolled his eyes and sat up a little, back cracking audibly. 

"Because," Diego said, then hesitated, "I do care."

Klaus gave him a sceptical look, clasping his hands together and glancing away. "You sure showed me that," he muttered. "But I'll entertain you. Have you not noticed that I happen to be ever so slightly high at the moment?" He asked, lips spreading into a grin like the Cheshire cat's.

Diego huffed. "Of course I have, Klaus."

"And did you notice how I could tell dear old daddy wasn't nearby?"

"Yeah..." Diego drawled out, obviously not on the same page. Klaus sighed heavily, then leaned forwards to place his hands on Diego's knees, ducking down to catch his eyes in a rather patronising way.

"I can still see the ghosts, Diego. High as a kite or not. They're still there." He patted the back of Diego's hand and then pulled back to watch confusion twist his brother's features. 

"If - if you can still see them, why still do the drugs?" He asked, and he sounded a little pained, which was, quite frankly, laughable. He hadn't sounded pained during the last hospital-landing overdose he'd had, because he hadn't been there at all.

"Well, you know. Withdrawals are a bitch. They're fun. Takes the edge off. Plus, please tell me when the last time I was sober was?" 

Diego's face fell. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Exactly." Klaus tipped his head back, letting out a content sigh, eyes falling closed. "Can't stop now. Might die, and that would be unfortunate." His eyes slid slyly to Ben who simply rolled his own eyes. 

"Yeah, bet God would be right pissed. Didn't you have a forty-eight hour deal with her?" Ben asked.

"I do," Klaus confirmed with a groan. God had told him that there had to be a minimum of forty-eight hours between each death, which was just boring, in his opinion.

"Who's here?" Diego asked, eyes flicking blindly in Ben's general direction. Klaus hesitated, then shrugged.

"Just a ghost." They had never believed him when he admitted Ben still hung around, and he wasn't about to try that again. 

Diego didn't look overly convinced, but he let the subject drop. "So you see them all the time?" He clarified, as if trying to sympathise.

"Don't pretend like you understand," Klaus moaned. "Or want to try to. Not now." He sat up and clapped his hand onto his shoulder, smiling coldly. "You never have and you don't want to, quite frankly. And that's okay. Don't you worry yourself." He stood up, hands on the back of his hips as he stretched, rolling up onto his tip toes. "Oh, look at the time. I better be going home now. Lovely seeing you again, we can catch up at the next funeral?" He raised his eyebrows, tipped his head, then walked back inside, leaving Diego reeling outside. 

He paused in the kitchen. It was silent, everyone having dispersed. Except...

Metal on metal, coming from the front door. Klaus' footsteps fell instantly silent despite the heavy boots he wore. Instead, he bent down, untied the laces and slid them off his feet, then continued onwards to the kitchen door. He poked his head out the doorway, narrowed eyes on the front door. 

The lock blew off, clattering to the floor and rolling aside, and Klaus startled. The doors inched open slowly and in walked two well dressed, masked gunmen, surveying the house. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! <3


	5. Finally I've Got Nothing

Diego came blundering through the kitchen behind him, loud and careless, and when he spotted Klaus peering around the door, he questioned him.

Klaus whipped around, a finger to his lips as he hissed, " _shhhh._ " He moved his hand to catch him on his chest before he walked out of the kitchen, and, luckily, Diego took the hint and stayed quiet, drifting slightly into the side and peering out to catch a glimpse of the intruders. 

"Who are they?" He whispered. Klaus gave him a look and then shrugged.

"Like I know. Just broke in," he replied quietly. He turned his gaze to Ben, nodded minutely, then watched as Ben walked out, circling the two intruders and picking up whatever information he could take from them. All Klaus could tell from there was that there was two of them, a man and a woman, and they both had guns. Their steps were silent and their heads swung left to right as they surveyed the place. Him and Diego ducked back when they glanced towards the kitchen. 

"There's two of them," Ben called. "You can look again, by the way. They have guns and a lot of ammo, and I think that's a bomb they have, too." Klaus poked his head out again, watching them step into the living room and stop short of Five's portrait. 

"We need to stop them," Diego grunted, and he took a step forwards before Klaus yanked him back. 

"Have you seen their guns?" Klaus hissed. "Real smart idea, Diego. Just wait." He gave him a stern look, then continued to watch them gazing up at Five's portrait. It had been hung up not too long after his disappearance, and Klaus had thought of it as less of a memorial to their sibling but more as a warning. Reginald made an example of Five's disobedience and his subsequent disappearance. 

"That's our kid," said the woman, voice clear despite the mask she wore. Klaus' eyebrows drew together. He really wished that Five had explained his situation to him, but he thought back to those people trying to kill him at Griddy's and decided that these people were part of them. He wondered how many people were after him and just what Five had done to earn this many people so determined to kill him. 

He ducked back behind the door as they turned around. "Seems like they're looking for Five again," stated Ben, drifting back to his side. "Those masks look pretty solid, by the way. Some weird metal, I think." He spoke in a quiet voice, whispering unnecessarily despite the fact that no one could hear him other than Klaus.

"Good thing Five isn't here, then," Klaus uttered in response. Diego gave him a look and Klaus waved in the people's direction. "They're looking for Five."

"He isn't here," Diego said. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"We've gone over that, but they don't know that." He hoped that they would just turn and leave, but of course life did not work like that, so eagerly in his favour. They continued onwards towards the large staircase further down the hall, ascending them silently. 

"Luther and Allison are upstairs," Diego murmured. Klaus sighed, closing his eyes. They could take care of themselves. A little surprise would do them some good. A hit over the head would do them some good, too. 

The one time he came back home just had to be the time some time travelling assassins broke in and he was expected to pull his weight and help his family. And in return for what? More disappointment? Klaus' teeth ground together. He was tempted to just turn around, walk out the courtyard, and leave from there. Let them all handle it. Let them know that he wasn't here to be part of the family again, or whatever bullshit it was that they had been discussing. And yet, a small part of him, a younger part of him hidden in the back of his head, longed to be. He squashed it down, stamped it back into its cage, and tightened his grip on the doorway he hid behind.

"And what might you suggest then?" Klaus asked, turning his gaze back to Diego. Diego seemed to still be grasping Klaus' bluntness with them all, his 'sudden' attitude towards them. Klaus thought he should have seen it coming. 

His tongue dashed out across his lips, gaze following the backs of the intruders. "Fight," he said, as if that was the best plan ever made, "and Luther and Allison will come down, too." He stayed crouched, inching silently out of the kitchen. "And you," his voice dropped, "get back - stay safe."

Klaus, had he not needed to be quiet, would have barked an echoing laugh. His eyes narrowed at Diego and he stood upright, tipped his head side to side, and then shook his head. "I did the same fighting you did," Klaus pointed out in a mutter. He had done the same training they all had done. He just hadn't enjoyed it, hadn't like fighting then. He stepped past Klaus and out into the hallway, placing his hands upon his narrow hips. "Can I help you two?" He called. "Not very polite to blow someone's lock off and start snooping around. We do have a knocker outside." 

The two people startled, spinning around with guns pointed at him. Diego cursed to his left and hurried to his side, hands flying to the hilts of his knives and pulling two out. "We're looking for Five," said the woman, voice sharp and clear, "and I suggest you tell us where he is and step aside."

"Not happening, Minnie Mouse. Get out of our house," Diego replied before Klaus had a chance to. He shot him a brief glare, lingering when Diego stepped in front of Klaus. The two masked people exchanged looks hidden by their masks, and then they cocked their guns and shot. Diego ducked to the side, hiding behind a pillar, and Klaus spun to the pillar in front of the living room doors. 

"Smart move," Ben quipped, leaning against the wall nonchalantly. Klaus glared at him. 

"Shut it," he hissed. He turned to catch Diego's gaze, who was gesturing for him to go into the living room. Klaus rolled his eyes, peered around the pillar, and ducked behind it just in time to dodge a bullet. The two prowled closer, footsteps sharp and measured. The woman inched towards Diego while the man came towards Klaus. Diego lunged out from behind his hiding place, knocking the woman's gun upwards before she could put a bullet into him, and he tried to wrestle it out of her grip. Klaus did the same, jumping out and grabbing the gun and aiming it over his shoulder just as a bullet rushed out of the barrel. 

The man had height and weight and strength against Klaus, but Klaus was confusion. He was here and there in the blink of an eye, ducking and jumping this way and that, spinning around the man like they were competing in some dance. He was more slender and more fast than the man, and it clearly frustrated him. However, dances didn't last forever, and it had to come to an end, and a rather ungraceful one, too, for the man grew too frustrated and curled a hand into the back of Klaus' jacket and threw him to the side. He collided harshly with the wall and crumpled to the floor, dazed, ears ringing. 

All the commotion must have caught the attention of Luther and Allison, fortunately, for he heard the heavy, rushed footsteps of Luther running down the stairs, accompanied by the clicking of Allison's shoes. Luther wasted no time in hurrying towards the man before he could pick his gun up from the floor, and Allison hurried towards Klaus' side. A hand rested on his forearm, ghosting over his old and new track marks. "Are you okay? Who are they?" Allison asked, eyebrows drawn together.

Klaus blinked, and he pulled himself out of his daze. He shook himself free of Allison's touch and used the wall to stand. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Go to Diego," he said, gesturing to where a sagging Diego was getting separated from them, him and the woman inching out of the hallway. And, surprisingly, Allison obliged. She ducked away from his side and he soon heard her yell for the woman's attention, accompanied by the sound of a kick. Or, Klaus thought, she was just eager to avoid him even more, rather than risking whatever consequences came from being associated with or near Klaus. That seemed more likely.

Klaus turned his attention to Luther and the man. The man was holding his own in an impressive feat, despite Luther's super strength. They were a mess of testosterone and muscles that gravitated into the living room, headbutts and grunts echoing, and very quickly Klaus found himself standing alone in the hallway. He turned to look at Ben. His brother shrugged.

"Kinda looks like they've got it handled," he said.

"It kind of does, doesn't it?" Agreed Klaus. He stuffed his hands awkwardly into the tight pockets of his trousers - seriously, who had decided to make women's pockets so small? - and he lingered briefly in there, painted lips pursed. Then he clicked his bare heels together and, ignoring the sounds of chaos and fighting around him, went into the kitchen. He found his boots to the side and plucked them up and began to fumble with the laces while he leaned back against the dining table, tapping his foot to the sound of glass breaking as if it was a tune.

"Wonder where Five is," Ben said. Klaus hummed in acknowledgement.

"No idea. Probably having a better time than us."

"Oh, no doubt," Ben scoffed. 

In front of him, Ben turned to look over his shoulder at a particularly loud crash. He watched as Luther lay sprawled over the remains of the now demolished coffee table and the man, breathless and stiff, stood up, smoothing out his suit.

"You might have some company," Ben said, turning back to look at Klaus who replied with a simple, loud groan. 

"Think Five knows these people are on his ass and that I have to deal with them?" He asked rhetorically. He set his boots aside on the dining table and pushed off it, taking slow, silent steps out of the kitchen.

"Probably," Ben admitted. "He knew something that he didn't tell us at Griddy's, anyway."

"Little bastard."

Klaus cracked his fingers, rolled his shoulders, then raised his hand high above his head and waved. "Hey, big guy, only I get to beat my siblings up," he called. "So how about you, oh, I don't know, fuck off?"

The man turned around, chest heaving as he caught his breath. "I just need the kid," the man reiterated. Klaus shrugged.

"Not happening. Now, I'd like to ask you to leave," he gestured to the door with one hand. "I'll give you the opportunity to just calmly walk out. Call that rabid girlfriend of yours with you, too."

 "Just tell me where the kid is and stay out of my way," the man grumbled. He scratched at where the mask closed around his neck, and Klaus didn't step back as the larger man prowled forwards. He rolled his eyes instead.

"Not the response I was looking for, to be honest," he admitted. "Oh well. Come on then, big guy." His lips curled into a smile, something cold, something bitter, something eager. "I'm still pumped up from fighting your little buddies with Five last night. You're part of them, aren't you? See how well that group turned out?" He cocked his head to the side. Behind the man, Luther rasped Klaus' name. Above him, the hanging chandelier flickered ominously, but surely nothing more than an electrical blip, what with all the stray bullets flying around.

"Just shut up," the man snapped in exasperation, and then he threw a punch. Klaus ducked beneath his swinging arm, and he used the man's momentum against him to shove him forwards and off balance.

"One last chance," he hummed. The man turned around, huffed, and lunged. Klaus side stepped the move, and they began drifting towards the staircase. Then they began to ascend them, and Klaus laughed as he skipped up them and watched the man chase after him. "Ever seen  _The Shining_?" He asked. " _Stay away from me_!" He yelled, high pitched, dodging a punch and jumping higher up the stairs. " _Don't hurt me_!" He yelped, and jumped higher. And, as he reached the top of the stairs, "Wendy, darling,  _light of my life,_ I'm not gonna hurt ya'," he spun around the corner of the banister, leading him into the corridor leading to their bedrooms. His grin spread and when Blue, for he had began to dub the man blue in correspondence to the colour of his mask, threw out his fist, it fell short, as if air itself had curled into a barrier, a vice-like grip locked around his fist that tightened and tightened as Klaus' outstretched, glowing hand squeezed the air. "I'm just gonna bash your brains in," he finished wickedly. 

He wished that stupid mask wasn't on, for it hid the undoubtedly shocked expression that Klaus wanted to see. It wasn't as satisfying as it would be, and that ticked him off. He squeezed harder until the man yelled and viciously struggled to pull his arm free of the invisible force, then he flicked his wrist, eyes following as the man crashed into the wall. Klaus crossed over, bare feet padding across the ground, and then he lowered himself to straddle the man's heaving chest. He placed his hands on the cartoon cheeks of his mask and gave it a tug. It didn't give. He tugged again. Curled his fingers at the base around his neck and pulled. It didn't budge.

"What the fuck, man?" Klaus whined, letting go. He pouted and threw a glance down the stairs. He couldn't see Allison, Diego or the woman, but he could hear them fighting. He could hear Luther in the living room, too, and he watched, curiously, as the door opened. Vanya stepped in.

A fist connected with his cheek and sent him flying off the man's chest, and he tumbled across the floor. Blood trickled from his nose and he hissed, nails scratching the stair banister behind him to lift himself up and prop himself against them. "Motherfucker," he hissed, blood, real blood, not the kind that ghosts left on him, staining his pale fingers and running over his painted lips. He turned his eyes, suddenly burning cold, towards the man. "Don't fucking hit me!" He snapped, and he hauled himself to his feet. The man couldn't get another punch in for suddenly the air was closing in on him, pinning him to the wall as Klaus stalked forwards like a ghost, bloody fingers flexing to keep him in place. 

"You know," Klaus said, coming right up so they were only inches from one another, "dear old dad used to make us kill robbers and shit. I never did - I couldn't, back then. Useless powers and all, before I learned this neat little trick. And if I had, though, I'd just see them again, huh?" He spoke, not expecting a reply. He had been useless on missions and although he  _knew_ how to kill someone with a toaster, he never had. He didn't want to add to the undead hoard that followed him daily. But now? What was one more person to dozens? Would it be satisfying? Would it get rid of all the tension and anger in his body? He could just curl his hand and choke him out without even touching him. 

To his left, Ben had gained splatters of blood across his cheeks, and he said not a word as he watched Klaus, his eyes dark and shadowed by his hood. "You would meet my brother," he commented. "Not that you'd want to. Not in this state." He blinked owlishly, and Ben materialised slowly, and blood dripped down his clothes and pooled at his feet, and he stood over Klaus' shoulder, dead-eyed and cold, like a murderous shadow, and Klaus  _really_ wished that he didn't have the mask on. 

"Klaus?" Luther yelled, voice rasping, and he lost his concentration. The man slumped and immediately threw his hand to his back, picking a small gun from the back of his waistband and shooting blindly. Klaus crumpled as pain laced through his thigh, and the man raced past him and down the stairs.

" _Fuck_!" Klaus yelled, more angry than hurt, and then he turned around and threw his hand out. The man tripped and fell down the staircase, and Klaus hobbled after him, one hand pressed to his thigh. By the time he got to the bottom, Luther and the man were fighting again, and Diego and Allison were just approaching, and the woman wasn't. Vanya was standing to the side, shocked, and then she turned to Klaus, lips parted in  ~~ _fake_~~ concern. They were all there in time to watch Luther go crashing to the floor again, and the man stood. He looked around and, when Luther didn't stand, he began to walk out. 

Standing on the last step, Klaus glared at him. The front doors flew open. He was too light headed to do much more, however, hands shaking over his thigh, teeth grinding painfully. A blood stained shadow flickered over his shoulder, murderous, and he turned to exit before anyone could catch him. 

Allison and Diego rushed to Luther, who was struggling to get up. Vanya must have noticed the red on his hands - how couldn't she? - and she hurried to his side. "K-Klaus, what happened? Sit down, sit - are you okay?" He obliged for now, sitting on the stairs. 

"I'm fine," he muttered beneath his breath. Vanya sat by his side, hands pressing down on the wound, and Klaus felt funny as he watched the rest of their siblings who spared them not a glance. He wondered if this was what she had always felt like. Not that it mattered much now. 

"Where's the woman?" He grunted. His eyes flickered about and landed on the pink-masked figure in time to watch her, with one of Diego's knives, lean over the banister of the stairs above them, and cut the rope holding the chandelier steady above Luther, Diego and Allison. Luther pushed his siblings out the way when he saw it drop. 

Klaus caught it out of reflex. Then he looked at Luther, panting, eyes wide, and years of taunts and disappointments and insults flooded his ears. Klaus let the chandelier drop as quickly as he'd caught it. He watched it crash into Luther, drag him down, with some odd satisfaction in his eyes. Then he watched as he miraculously stood, chandelier tearing his clothes to reveal an unsightly body hidden beneath the fabric. No one said a thing. Klaus felt almost angry, for a brief moment, that he didn't stay down. His eyes trailed after Luther as he stood, regarded them, and then took large, lumbering steps away, past Klaus and Vanya on the stairs. 

"Well," rasped Klaus, and he smiled detachedly to himself, "that was fun." He stood despite the way his leg buckled, and just as suddenly as he came, Klaus left. Left Vanya reeling with his blood on her hands, and Luther with the injuries of the chandelier that Klaus had let fall on him, and Diego to wonder what was up with him, and Allison to - well. Not care, probably. Home sweet home. 

 

 

 

"Wow, you look even worse than normal. What the fuck happened?"

Klaus looked up from where he was fumbling blindly with his lock, turning to look at John, holding his stupid cat and a newspaper. "Got shot," he muttered in response. He had kept walking until he reached his apartment, and the adrenaline fuelling him had disappeared and left him a shaky, limping mess. The stairs up had not been fun at all, but he'd wasted his energy on manifesting Ben to lean on (virtually be carried by) rather than wasting his energy on walking up the stairs himself. 

"And you walked home?" John exclaimed. He nudged open his door and set his cat inside his apartment, then came forwards to take his hands and guide him into his apartment and onto his seat. 

"Wasn't gonna just stick around," Klaus replied. John snorted, disappearing behind him into his kitchen. 

"Where were you that was worse than walking home with a bullet in your leg?" He asked as he returned, with a bottle of whiskey, a towel, a knife, disinfectant pads and some gauze and bandages. 

"Family reunion," Klaus said. John grimaced. 

"Fair enough. You got shot at your family reunion?"

"Long story." Klaus took the whiskey and drank until he didn't taste blood anymore, but when John brought the knife to his leg, he startled. "What the fuck?"

"Those are basically painted on you, Klaus, you're not shimmying out of them," John stated.

"You're not ruining them!"

"They're covered in blood."

"You know how to work my washing machine," Klaus stated. John gave him a look that Klaus returned.

"It'll hurt like shit."

"I'd rather that than lose these pants."

"So fucking dramatic," John muttered sarcastically. Nonetheless, they set themselves onto the battle of getting his injured leg out of the skin-tight, leather trousers and, sure enough, it hurt like shit. Klaus bit his lip open and made some noises Ben would probably make fun of him for later. But they got it down his thigh, and Klaus succumbed to the semi-detached state that had been chasing him since he hobbled out of the academy. He let John clean up the wound and wondered how he knew to do that. When he blinked back into reality, his thigh was clean and wrapped and still sore, but not as fiery as it had been through his walk home. 

"Rest here for the night," John said, cleaning up the coffee table of all the supplies he had brought. "So I can, you know, make sure you don't die."

"Aw, you care," Klaus cooed, but his voice was monotone. Ben was still dripping blood. If he thought too hard, he could feel the pressure of a throat beneath the palm of his hand. He realised, too, that his shoes were still in the dining room, and that he'd walked home barefoot, and that his feet hurt. 

John excused himself to the bathroom and he heard the shower turn on, and Klaus slumped on his couch, eyes staring blindly at the ceiling waving above his head. Then he laughed. A small snigger than bubbled in the back of his throat and turned into stomach-cramping, eye-watering, wheezing laughter. He dug his nails into a cushion he hugged to his stomach and hoped he didn't stain it with the blood still beneath his fingertips, and he screwed his eyes shut. John's cat hopped up onto the couch and settled itself on his shoulder, and the weight and warmth was surprisingly comforting despite the cat's previous annoyances. He ran his finger through its ginger fur and it purred happily, and Klaus, wet faced, smiled at the thing, took enough shuddering breaths until he was composed, and curled up on John's couch and fell asleep to the steady drip of Ben's blood by the window sill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> Was the chandelier a dick move? Maybe so. But I still did it. 
> 
> Also, Dave proooobably will make an appearance. I just need to decide whether that’s via time travel or au where he’s born in the present and such, but who knows
> 
> I’d love to hear your thoughts!


	6. Smile Even Though Your Heart is Aching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Klaus woke to fur clogging his mouth. He took in a deep breath, then sat up suddenly, batting away the previously purring ball of fur that had been laying across his face.

"I gave you a chance," Klaus rasped, glaring at the affronted cat standing on the back of the seat now, back arched and ears flat. He patted his hand against his chest and then rose his hand to peel fur off his tongue with a grimace, spitting it out. 

"She was comfortable," John stated from the kitchen. Klaus began to swing his legs over the edge of the couch only for pain to flare up in his thigh and he stopped, biting down on his tongue. "Yeah, you might want to take it slow," John added. 

Klaus simply groaned, dragging a hand down his face and moving significantly slower. "How'd you even know how to do that?" He asked.

"Do what?"

Klaus waved at his thigh. "First aid."

John shrugged his shoulders and opened his fridge. "I picked up a few things here and there," he answered. 

"Evidently." Klaus tentatively ghosted his fingertips over the stained bandage. It felt as if it had, at least, stopped it had stopped bleeding overnight. He placed his bare feet onto the floor and stood, putting his weight on his good leg. "Thanks, though."

"Well, I couldn't just leave you fumbling with your door all night," John joked. "Tea? Coffee?" 

"Uh... sure. Tea. Please." He took a few testing steps around, then began surveying the room. "Do you not have, like, a fancy pimp cane, or something?"

John snorted. "No. I got rid of it."

Klaus groaned. He balanced himself on various pieces of furniture as he came up to his side, then leaned on the kitchen counter. "Why would you do that?"

John gave him a funny look. "I got pretty good money from it," he admitted. "Plus, I knew you were going to steal it one of these days."

" _Borrow_ it, John. Borrow it," Klaus corrected. John scoffed, then turned to hand him a cup of tea that he eagerly hugged his hands around it, warmth seeping into his icy bones. 

"You should probably sit back down," John said. His eyes flicked pointedly towards the couch and Klaus sipped at his tea. 

"I should probably get going," he responded, avoiding John's unimpressed look. "You know me, always running around the place." He took another sip of tea before setting it down. "Thank you for your help, I'd be dead without you, love you, au revoir," he blew the man a kiss before hobbling out of his apartment and heading to his own. There were a few drops of blood that paved the way between the two apartments, and Klaus decided that it simply added to the place. He fumbled with his key once more but was successful in unlocking it this time, and he hobbled inside. Ben was sitting on his couch with a book in his hands. 

"Oh, good. I was beginning to think you had died again," said his brother. Klaus snorted.

"Not this time," he replied. He slumped onto the couch beside him and tilted his head back, eyes closing. "Did you just fully leave me to die in someone else's apartment?"

Ben shrugged. "John isn't a stranger. And you never seem to stay dead," he pointed out. Klaus grumbled a choice of rude words beneath his breath, folding his arm across his chest.

"Have we got painkillers?" He asked. "Or any kind of drug?"

Ben gave him a look. "Did you flush any?"

Klaus returned the look. "Be a dear, brother, and fetch me them." He waved his now-glowing hands at his now-corporeal brother, who sighed heavily, closing his book and setting it on the coffee table. Nonetheless, Ben stood and began to search the many little hidey-holes of Klaus' apartment before he held up a little plastic bag. "There's weed," he called back.

"How much?"

Ben shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? An amount. I don't think you've opened this bag yet, actually."

"Give it." Ben threw it towards him and Klaus did not catch it, rather letting it fall onto his chest. Sure enough, there was an unopened bag with weed in it, complete with a couple of skins and filters. He dug around for a lighter stuck between the couch cushions he sat on, then reached agonisingly for the grinder on his coffee table and set to work. He lit it and held it between his lips and listened to the sound of Ben turning the pages of his book. An elderly woman's can tap, tap, tapped the wooden floorboards behind him as she scuttled about what used to be her apartment years ago, seemingly oblivious to the changes it had undergone, stuck in her own little world that had gone years ago. With a glance from Klaus, the radio in his kitchen spluttered to life, playing the first music channel. It was playing old classic's with that nostalgic static of the radio to the sound, and it occasionally drifted in and out, getting loud when it reached peaks with the instruments. Nate King Cole's voice was soothing, smooth and deep and like a grandparent's hug, if Klaus had ever had a grandparent, but the radio morphed it to something deeper and jerky as it cut in and out, glitching, and it rather sounded like one of those songs that would play in the morning when you woke up on the same day for the seventeenth time, stuck in some insanity-driving time loop. 

Klaus' fingers danced in the air and the elderly ghost in his apartment hummed along, reminiscent of a time when she had been young and had spun beneath her lover's arm, kitten pump heels tapping on the dance floor, dress flaring around her knees, perfectly curled bob bouncing above her shoulders and ruby red lips stretched in a smile. Her boyfriend would take her out of the dance hall at curfew, give her his jacket, and take her home. And years later he would propose, and they'd live a long life together, and this song would come on and bring back a flood of young memories that made them smile to their youth.

Klaus wondered, often, what life would be like had he been born to a normal family. Had he not been cursed in such a way that he was, and he grew up with normal siblings, in a different country, or wherever it was Reginald had bought him from, and he had gone to school and not done drugs and gone to university, maybe. Maybe he'd follow his young interest in art, and go to study that and hang his masterpieces in museums, or perhaps he wouldn't, and he'd just go to work and meet his lover, and they'd get married and maybe adopt a kid or two, and they'd have their families around for Christmas and Thanksgiving and they'd get wine drunk together, and he wouldn't feel so empty and angry and hurt all the time. He wouldn't believe in nonsense like  _ghosts,_ but with that Umbrella Academy and its superpowered kids in another country, maybe it was a possibility. 

He ought to stop fantasising about things that would never happen, though. Klaus took another drag of his joint until it was all used up and he left its remains in an almost full ash tray on his coffee table. He let his hand dangle over the edge of his couch limply, and his eyes traced the veins in his forearm. He was sure a few of the veins were collapsed, now, and there were little scars along them left from the tip of a needle. His blood was surely more heroin than blood now. More poison than life. One day, it might turn black, maybe.

He remembered the first time he had shot up. He had been horribly sober and had gone to a club to try and find something, whether it turned out to be pills or alcohol or a stranger's bed, and he had gone home with a man. 

_"Ever tried it?" The man asked. Klaus had already forgotten his name, or he'd never learned it in the first place. They'd stumbled into his house in a mess of lips and tongues, and after they had thoroughly messed his bedsheets and Klaus' body ached deliciously, the man had asked him if he had done any drugs. Then he'd asked if he minded if he got high._

_"No," Klaus admitted, watching the man spark a lighter to life beneath a spoon. He was nineteen and naïve, and incredibly good at getting things from other strangers. Mostly alcohol or weed or ecstasy, and, a few times as of two months ago, cocaine. This, though. This was foreign to him._

_"Do you want to?" The man asked. Mossy green eyes flicked up to Klaus. "I've got enough to share. Plus," his tongue dashed out across his lips, "you look like you could use it."_

_"Oh, I don't know," Klaus uttered as he sat up in the bed._

_"It'll help you sleep," the man said._

_"I don't sleep well." And the idea of being trapped in his dreams was not pleasant._

_"Dreams?" Klaus nodded. "Gets rid of 'em. Drowns everything else out. It's the best high you can get."_

_"Don't you fucking dare, Klaus," Ben growled. "Don't you dare. I - no. This is too much. You don't need that shit. Klaus, I swear to God, I will leave, and I won't come back." Ben knew, then, that the only thing that feared Klaus as much as the ghosts was the idea of being alone with them. Or simply alone. It was hard to tell if he was alive if all he could see was unfriendly dead people. But Klaus slept fitfully as it was, whether it was in a comfortable bed at the Academy or behind a dumpster on the streets, and this was a chance for a warm bed and a good rest. And it would only be the once, of course._

_"How about it?" The man asked. "If you don't like it, well, you just never have to do it again. No harm, no foul."_

_"Klaus," Ben seethed._

_"Okay." Klaus nodded. "I - I don't know how-"_

_"Don't worry about that," dismissed the man. "I'll do you, and you just enjoy it. Give me your arm." And he did. He held out his arm, pale and warm, and the man tightened a belt above his elbow. He fixed up a syringe, then held it up. "You sure?" He asked._

_Ben was gone. "Yes," said Klaus._

_"You got anything?" The man asked. "You know..."_

_"No," said Klaus, although he wasn't entirely sure. He hadn't ever checked, but simply trusted the people he fell into bed with. He was sure he would know by now, though, tested or not._

_The man nodded, then plunged the needle in._

_When he woke up, feeling simultaneously worse and better than ever, Ben was still gone. He didn't see Ben for over a month, then, and only did when he woke up in the hospital after his first overdose, found with a needle sticking out his arm._

Sometimes, he really wished hadn't taken that man's offer. Heroin had fucked him over the most, a bitter sweet sirens call that always had him going back to it, but it left him reeling with worse withdrawals and, after it had no affects on the ghosts, it left him paralysed and vulnerable to their torment, stuck in a nightmare. He could easily say it was the one that had truly wrecked him. 

"What're you thinking?" Ben asked, glancing up from his book. "You're alive."

"I know," replied Klaus. Often times Klaus asked to be reminded. Often times he didn't need to ask. "And nothing." 

"That's believable," Ben quipped. Klaus glared at him.

"You know when you left?" He began. "When I first shot up?"

"Mhmm."

"Where did you go?"

Ben closed his book. "Not far," he admitted. "I went to the academy. Watched Luther with dad, checked in on Diego and Vanya and Allison. Was with Diego when he got the call from the hospital."

Klaus let out a little 'ah'. "Fair enough."

"Was quite boring, to be honest," he added. Klaus snorted.

"No doubt."

Klaus sat up. He limped his way into his bedroom to change out of his blood stained clothes, substituting it for a thick turtleneck and flowing black skirt that wasn't so tight around his wound, and then he shoved his feet into the closest pair of shoes, and sat down in front of his cracked mirror. His face was pale, paler than usual, and had smudged eyeliner around his eyes and remnants of lipstick. He tidied them both up, then left his apartment. He wanted fresh air and his apartment felt claustrophobic, too depressing now. 

He lit up another joint, intent to chase away the ache in his leg, and he walked blindly down the streets leisurely. Ben walked by his side, quiet and observative. People walked through him, causing him to ripple and shudder like water, but Ben had become accustomed to it now. He took random turns, stamped out the remnant of the joint beneath his toe, and kept walking. His mind felt fuzzy, pleasant, but he still felt the swirling, devouring whirlpool coiled in his stomach, cramping and hateful. His eyes stung irrationally and the city became a blur of lights, and he felt very much like a ghost, unnoticed by everyone, forgotten, shunned. He didn't belong here. Didn't belong with the living, not quite, but also not quite with the dead, either.

He didn't notice the wound in his thigh must have reopened until his leg buckled and he almost fell against the nearest building. It had began to rain and quite heavily, too, and his hair plastered itself to his head and left him shaking with a bone-deep chill. Klaus leaned back against the nearest building, huffing for breath. The street he was on wasn't familiar, somewhere he'd never been before. It was dark with the grey sky above, illuminated largely by the cars on the roads and the glowing street signs and the traffic lights. He lifted his skirt slightly to peek at his thigh and the blood stained bandage on his leg. 

He groaned, dropped the skirt, and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"How far from home are we?" He asked. 

"A while," Ben admitted beside him. "You just kept walking."

"Fucking great." He shook his head to himself. He wondered what would have happened if he had stayed at the academy. Perhaps he would have bled out on the staircase, uncared for, until Grace found him and took care of him with artificial love. 

God, was it selfish to just want a normal family? To want the sibling love he'd last been shown when he was ten back? His hand thudded against the building he leaned against, chest heaving with frustration. Was it so bad to just want his family to care for him?

No. He didn't want that. He was over it. He was  _over it._ If he wanted love then there were plenty of clubs with men willing to lie to him so he could hear those words for one night. But for now he needed to get himself back to his apartment to take care of the nuisance of a wound in his thigh.

He ducked into the nearest alleyway, stumbling further into it before leaning against the wall. He pulled his skirt back up again and pinched the edges of the bandage around his wound to lift it ever so slightly at peer beneath it. He, along with the rest of the Umbrella Academy, had been taught first aid, of course, but Klaus had never really paid attention to it. He regretted that now, for he couldn't tell if what was under the bandage looked good or bad. 

"Klaus." Ben stood up sharply and at the alarmed tone in his voice, Klaus looked up, eyes narrowed.

"What?" He asked. Something pinched the back of his neck. He startled, turning, but aside from Ben he was alone in the alleyway. He brought a hand up to his neck and the movement felt as if he was underwater. His fingers clasped around something hard and he pulled it out to find a little dart. "Huh," he said, then collapsed. 

 

 

 

He woke up in the trunk of a car with duct tape holding his wrists together and sealing his mouth shut. His head ached and he felt heavy and fuzzy, but coherent enough to realise quickly he was, indeed, in a trunk. A very small trunk for a six foot man, and his legs were cramping, his thigh positively on fire. He jerked to and fro with each swerve in the road, head thumping painfully against the floor. He wasn't sure how long he had been in the trunk or how long the car continued to drive until it stopped. Car doors thudded closed and footsteps rounded the car, coming closer and closer, until the trunk swung open and he saw two familiar masks. 

"He's supposed to still be unconscious," stated Pink. "Did you give him less?"

"I gave him  _more_ ," said Blue. "I told you, he's different."

"I know, I know," Pink hissed. "Just grab him."

Klaus groaned, and when Blue reached in to throw Klaus over his shoulder, he kicked a fuss; thrashing and thumping his fists against his back and kicking until his shoes, the sandals he had shoved on, went flying off his feet and were lost to the car park. He tried to catch his feet on the railings of the stairs, then tried to block them from going into the room in the way that cats tried to avoid going into baths, placing his feet on the wall and using his body to block the entrance. The man was strong though, and simply kept pushing until it felt as if Klaus' legs might break, which he very much did not want, so he tucked his legs back in and let himself be carried into the room and dropped unceremoniously into a waiting chair. 

Pink was at him in a second, a knife cutting the tape on his wrists and, before he could even think, they were taped to the arms of his chair. He kicked out before his ankles were grabbed and taped to the legs of the chair, too. Klaus dug his nails into the arms, trying and failing to tug it free. The two people disappeared behind him and then footsteps came close and something slid over his eyes - a blind fold - and then was secured with a ring of duct tape. One of them held his head still when he tried to thrash and shake his head. Fingers scratched his cheek and who he assumed to be Pink yanked the tape over his mouth off. 

"What the fuck?" Klaus hissed. "I've already soon you guys, this is entirely unnecessary."

"You're telekinetic," stated Pink. "We don't want you doing some stupid things now, do we?"

Klaus barked a laugh. "Who told you I need sight for telekinesis?" He asked. "Now I just can't see what I'm doing and I'm annoyed." As if to exaggerate his point, he focused a wave of energy but, with no clear direction for his power to go, it simply rolled off like a wave and he heard multiple things fall over. "I'm willing to have a civilised conversation with you if you just, you know,  _gently_ take that off."

He heard the two of them talking in hushed tones somewhere. Something else fell over while Klaus tipped his head side to side as if listening to a song. Eventually, though, the duct tape was unwound very not gently from his head, and the blind fold was yanked off. With his sight back, Klaus could take in the place. They were clearly in a motel, and a pretty run down one by the looks if it, too, what with the moly spores across the ceiling, the mild blue carpet and the stained lavender lampshades, and the cigarette burns in the bedsheets. The refrigerator buzzed away loudly in the corner and one of the lights flickered occasionally, and there was some kind of smell in the place, with undertones of dust. It only looked a step up from the motels Klaus used to hang out in before he got his apartment.

"See," he said, shaking his head to get hair out of his face, "much better. Now, can I help you?"

"We need Five," said the woman. "Tell us where he is."

Klaus groaned loudly, tipping his head back. "Oh, come on. We had this conversation yesterday! You know, when I threw your henchman here down the stairs, you know, with my  _mind._ " Klaus waggled his fingers and winked at Blue, who turned his head away briefly.

Pink backhanded him. His head snapped to the side and he hissed, digging his nails into the arm of the chair. " _Ow._ " He hissed, turning to glare at her. The lights flickered in the room, buzzing. "Look, you want to talk, talk. Otherwise I'm going to get real tired and I'll just get up and walk out."

"Answer the question," insisted Pink. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"I don't know where Five is," he said. "I only actually saw him in the donut shop, and not since. For all I know he's jumped out of time again."

"Then where  _might_ he be?" Pink asked.

"I don't know!" Klaus exclaimed. "I haven't seen him in years. Christ knows what his interests are. I very much doubt he's at the movies, though, if that helps."

"You grabbed the useless one," Pink sighed, shaking her head and pacing.

" _Hey_!" 

"How was I supposed to know?" Blue defended. "Is that it, then?"

"I guess so." A sigh left Pink's lips and her hand found a gun sitting aside. She took the safety off, cocked it, then pointed it at Klaus' face.

"Woah, we were having a nice chat!" Klaus said, leaning back in the chair. "No need for guns, come on."

"Last chance to tell us anything."

"It'd be kind of amusing," Ben perked up from where he was sitting somewhere over his shoulder, "if they did shoot you and you just jumped back up."

Klaus gave Ben a horrified look. "You just _want_ me to die," he said, feigning pain. Ben rolled his eyes but his lips curled upwards in amusement, as did Klaus'. He swung his head slowly back to his two kidnappers. "As I was saying; it's in  _your_ best interest if you put that gun down and let me out," he said. "Rather than trying to kill me like all the other people you've killed." It was hard not to notice all the other ghosts in the room. There was so many it felt claustrophobic in the tight room, angered corpses circling them all, curious, waiting.

Pink hesitated, but seemed to just ignore him. "And what are you going to do about it? If I pulled the trigger right now?" She asked, almost amused at the idea that he would do anything. Klaus leaned close to her, close enough that he pressed his forehead against the gun, and he smiled.

"Oh, _I'm_ not going to do anything," he said. "But my brother will. And he's more scary than me."

"What?" Asked Ben, eyebrows raised as he stood. "I mean, fine. Just because I don't want to see your brains."

Pink cocked her head to the side. "I don't see him here," she said.

Klaus nodded. "And you won't until it's too late."

Pink turned to look at Blue, and she pulled the gun away for a moment. Klaus nodded encouragingly, a smile on his lips as he relaxed. Then Pink put the gun back and pulled the trigger in an instant.

 

 

 

_"We need to stop meeting like this."_

_Klaus sat up, rubbing his distantly aching head. He blinked around at the scenic place they were in this time, then nodded his agreement. "Well, at least this time it wasn't my own fault," he pointed out._

_"Murdered this time," God clarified. "Adds some variety. If I had to clean your veins out one more time, I might have contemplated sending down another world-wide flood."_

_"That would most certainly be unfortunate. So, you sending me back down? I did promise to just beat their asses. It'll be really awkward if there's a twenty minute gap."_

_God drummed her fingers along her glass of lemonade. "You have no patience, Klaus," she commented. "You might have a small headache. I'll see you soon."_

 

 

 

Klaus gasped for air, then immediately grimaced.  _Small headache_ his ass, he thought. His skull felt like, well, as if it had been shattered by a bullet. He was inclined to believe that she left him with that pain on purpose. Honestly, he hadn't been sure that that death wouldn't be permanent. A bullet to the brain was largely different to an overdose, and he wondered if that was too much damage for God to undo. He was incredibly grateful for the fact that it seemed not to be.

"What the fuck," Blue hissed as he jerked on the floor, coughing as his lungs stuttered to life.

"Oh,  _fuck,_ that one hurt," Klaus rasped. His vision was slightly blurry and he had to blink multiple times to clear it. "Oh, I told you not to do that." He turned his gaze to Ben, standing by his side, and focused on manifesting him while he tried to compose himself, resting slumped in the chair. Ben flickered to life, or not, technically, but he crossed the veil between the realm of the dead and the realm of the living using Klaus as a bridge. 

"I'm the brother," he introduced, and his voice was raspy. He leaned back, rolling his shoulders back, and then his stomach exploded. 

Not once did the Horror come near Klaus. They knew he was a friend, and they gave him a berth as a knife floated to his hands that he used to cut the tape on his wrists, then his ankles. He stood carefully, wobbling slightly, and he used the bed to step into the far corner, ducking down to avoid the gunshots that went off when Blue and Pink tried to shoot at the ghostly appendages coming for them. He didn't risk going for the door in fear of accidentally getting shot or slapped by an eldritch tentacle, or hit by one of the many things getting thrown around the room in the whirlwind of Ben's Horrors. He looked around, found a vent beside him, and tried it. It fell off the wall easily, and he hunched his shoulders, made himself smaller, and clambered inside it to the sound of yells and thuds. 

They had hidden an expensive-looking briefcase in the vents, for whatever reason. Klaus decided it must be valuable if they had, though, and he was all too happy to take it in his haste to get out. 

Ben found him outside. The Horrors were gone and he was no longer corporeal, and he walked casually by Klaus' side.

"Did you kill them?"

Ben shook his head. "I didn't want them hanging out with us for eternity," he stated.

"Good thinking," said Klaus, nodding his head. He held up the briefcase. "They were hiding this."

"Think it's got money?" Ben asked, scrutinising the briefcase.

"That's what I'm hoping." He looked around, then crossed the road to get to the nearest bus stop. He bought a ticket to his street, then settled down onto one of the seats. His body ached and he was longing for a high, but he was longing more so to see what was in the briefcase. He was sure the migraine he had wouldn't leave him for a long while, and there was still a few drops of blood around his face and in his hair that hadn't entirely evaporated, or done whatever it was that happened when God sent him back down and fixed his skull. He wanted a high, and a nice bath, but he wanted to know if he was rich now, too. 

"I bet it's some guns, or something," said Ben. Klaus shrugged. 

"Bet, then." 

His fingers found the clasps on the case and flicked them open, and then he opened the bag and peered inside. All he saw was blue, blinding and devouring, and everything around him disappeared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up going with the time traveller route because of angst and also plot, thank you to the person who called me out for loving angst last chapter, you're very right, I can't help it. 
> 
> If you liked this part, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; i greatly aprpeciate it and love hearing your thoughts!


	7. Let My Body Fall Into The Lion's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait, but enjoy!

Klaus landed heavily on a hard ground, and he'd never felt so confused. No longer was he sitting on a bus driving down to his apartment, but instead he sat on the floor of a large tent in the dark, with bangs echoing far in the distance. There were men sleeping fitfully in cots around him, all dressed in army uniform. The air felt thick with smoke, burning his nose and the back of his throat, and his jaw fell open. 

Where the fuck was he?

He had no time to wonder. Something exploded outside, loud and violent and shaking the ground, and it someone ran into the tent, yelling and all the men woke up and wasted not a second in gathering all their stuff, setting helmets onto their heads and grabbing rifles.

"You deaf, boy? Get on your feet and get some damn pants!" A man all but screamed at him, and Klaus, clutching the briefcase to his chest. He scrambled to his feet, struggling to find words.

"I - no, I'm not -"

"Someone, get the man some pants! We don't have time for this!" The soldier insisted, and someone dropped a helmet onto his head and shoved some army pants and an obviously too-big shirt into his chest. He had no choice but to hurriedly change into them, then shove his feet into a pair of heavy boots. At some point, someone gave him a rifle. The explosions did not cease for a minute and he found himself on the knees from how hard the ground shook, resisting the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. He was going to go deaf, surely. 

A hand curled around his bicep and pulled him up onto his feet and, clutching a rifle and the briefcase, he followed the line of men out into the chaos.

The sky was ablaze. It was night, clearly, but darker more so because of dust and smoke that rose high into the sky, blocking any stars from view. And, it seemed, the sky was on fire. Flames licked their way up trees and when he looked towards the horizon, all he saw was fire. Someone shoved him from behind when his feet stopped working, and the migraine, the wound in his thigh, everything was forgotten. He focused on stumbling blindly after the men, desperate to get away from what he now found to be bombs crashing around them.

They did not stop walking for a long time. At some point, the explosions and fire got more distant, but his ears were still ringing just as loud. The pain in his leg returned with ferocity and he fell many times, stranger's calloused hands immediately reaching out to haul him back to his feet and keep him moving. They stumbled through tree roots and overgrowth and mud and ash until they came to what seemed like a camp. By the time they reached it, however, the sun was already rising, and Klaus felt dead on his feet. They kept walking through the camp, though, except for one man whom had ended up being carried back because his leg broke at some point, from a fall at an explosions or in a trap, Klaus couldn't remember. Everything was a blur. He kept walking. He kept walking until they were walking onto a bus and collapsing into seats. Klaus set his briefcase beneath the chair he fell onto, and his hands, now covered in soot and dirt, clutched the unfamiliar rifle he'd been given. 

He was in a war zone. And by the looks of the bus alone, not in twenty-nineteen. Nor was he still in the same country he'd left. 

He should have thought, really. Five time travelled, and had time travelling people after him. Of course they would have a time travelling briefcase. Oh, he was so  _stupid,_ he should have  _known._

He realised Ben wasn't here. He hadn't seen or heard him at all, even now, safe on the bus. He studied the seat in front of him, dusty and falling apart, and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do. There was a rifle in his hands. He was fairly certain it was illegal for him to have a gun in his hands. Everyone around him looked dazed, lost, tired. A hand landed onto his shoulder. When Klaus turned to look, startling ever so slightly, he saw a man crouched in the aisle of the seats, offering him a friendly smile. "You just get in country?" He asked. Klaus raised his eyebrows, pulling himself out of his stupor.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," he nodded and the man offered a small chuckle, eyes flitting briefly to the window. 

"Yeah, shit's crazy, I know," he said. "You'll adjust." He pauses, eyes flicking up and down Klaus for a brief moment before he offered out a hand. "I'm Dave."

Klaus hesitated for a brief second before taking his hand, curling them together. "Klaus." 

And, for some reason, Klaus found his foot nudging the briefcase further beneath his seat.

 

######

 

He came to realise rather quickly that Dave was possibly the most fascinating (living) person he'd ever spoken to. 

They spoke for the majority of the bus journey, Dave filling him in on a couple of things (things of which Klaus found very useful in piecing apart his current situation - that he was in Vietnam, that it was 1968, and he was now a soldier of the 173rd Airborne Division in active combat.) He spoke about other things, too. Told him he’d been there for about three months, told him he had two younger sisters back home, that he lived out in the middle of nowhere in a small house with his family before he joined the army, white picket-fence style. His mother, apparently, made the best lasagne. He asked if Klaus had any family waiting for him ‘on the other side’ and Klaus had almost laughed. The only family he had waiting for him was Ben. He had been grateful to forget about the rest of them.

“I’d rather not talk about them,” he had said. If he started, he wouldn’t stop, and he wasn’t sure Dave would appreciate Klaus ranting like a mad man about his family trauma for hours upon their first meeting. So he bit his tongue, only just, and let the subject drop.

He got lucky. They left the camp and the front lines they had been on, heading in the opposite direction of the explosions and the gunfire that had welcome him upon his sudden arrival. They drove through winding roads flanked by towering trees either side of them, down mountains. Klaus had never seen anything like it. Whenever he had left the city he had been young and stuck by Reginald’s side on some fancy Umbrella Academy outing, never getting to see much more than expensive formal clothes, chandeliers and blacked out windows. This – this was something new entirely. It was, admittedly, breath taking.

“Yeah,” Dave had chuckled, “some real nice sights out here. Beautiful sunsets. Never see the stars like you do here than in some city.”

And he had been right, of course. The night sky had been an inky sea stretching out above them forever, endless and deep, with whole galaxies bursting in waves. The sunset had blossomed red and orange and pink, melting like watercolour paints and growing darker slowly. Even as they drove into the city that they were to stay in, the stars stayed above them like a companion.

Klaus was very much grateful for his incredible timing. At least he hadn’t dropped in during a fight, but rather right as they all piled into a hostel with a bar with a large discount for soldiers and a disco ball. Everyone was eager to settle down, to sort themselves out, debrief, and, finally, head to the bar despite the fatigue in their bones. Eager for a drink, to sit down with one another, celebrate being here and mourn for those who couldn’t celebrate.

It gave Klaus time to be introduced to the division. Their welcome was warm, raised glasses of whiskey, down them hot. It was almost like any other night out at a pub, but with people that seemed happy to talk to him like a friend rather than a potential fuck. It was oddly refreshing, and it was easy to get over the out of date music and old clothes to instead just enjoy a drink and, as the night wore on, he found himself standing around the back of the little pub, listening to vehicles rustle down the roads nearby, smoking a joint with a man named Johnson from the division, and by night he was in a squeaking bed shared with Dave due to lack of room. Everyone seemed to keep up a running joke about sharing beds every time they had leave, with flirting and banter Klaus could easily slide into.

“Back to back, Davey-boy,” Klaus had grinned, “unless you want to be big spoon.” He had winked at him only for Dave to look him up and down, raise an eyebrow, and not turn around.

 

###

 

Dave taught him how to shoot, too. When they did target practice on cans of beer and it became painfully obvious Klaus had either been hit on the head and forgotten his training or he had been one of the recruits to get the short end of the stick and be shoved out with little training. He taught him how to dismantle a rifle and how to put it back together in seconds, how to keep it clean and dry – some became useless when wet and dirty, said Dave – and, most importantly, how to aim and how to shoot straight. It was exhilarating. And, it turned out, he had pretty good aim.

Cleaning and dismantling the thing and putting it back together became second nature quickly. Its weight became familiar in his hands, his fingers curling easily around it. He learned how to march with it, learned how easily he could retrieve it when in desperate need for it.

He learned the sound of bullets thudding into flesh, too. The spurt of blood following quickly after, the thud of the person falling or stumbling, gasping and crying out. He learned how fast a body could fall. He learned what freshly deceased bodies looked like and what they smelled like, learned quick, shoddy field medical aid.

Sometimes the people he fought and killed followed him. Mostly they were like flickering shadows, dancing in his peripheral, standing far away as if they were scared – scared of him – watching, staring, blood dripping down from their wounds. Klaus wasn’t sure what he felt when he saw them. It wasn’t as satisfying as fighting Hazel had been.

It was almost odd how quickly Klaus seemed to melt into this new life, however. As if he was meant to be there more than he was meant to be in the Academy. He was quick to make friends with the other men in his division, quick to become one of them. His life melted away and morphed into Vietnam, morphed into the 173rd Airborne Brigade, into guns and whiskey and fighting and Dave, and he let it. He let it eagerly. He fit in better here, got on better here. He wouldn’t say he necessarily enjoyed war, but he enjoyed the people he was with, enjoyed the bullshit they got up to when they were drunk on leave. He dealt with the bad parts of war as he always had; he got wasted and got high whenever it presented the opportunity.

Dave was intrigued by him. Said he was some wild card, always wanted to hear one of his exaggerated stories, and Klaus enjoyed his company. He was funny and endearing and entertained Klaus’ banter and returned it, and he only seemed mildly disturbed by some of the things Klaus said. Or, he hid it well if he was, anyway.

“You say weird shit sometimes,” Dave told him once, watching Klaus pluck his cigarette right out of his hands and bring it up to his own lips.

“I’ve never been told that before,” Klaus hummed sarcastically. Dave snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s just me, Davey. Gotta keep you on your toes. Can’t let you get comfortable when the Heaven’s split and spit missiles at us, can I?”

“Brown said you’re a psychopath,” Dave stated. Klaus raised his eyebrows curiously, inhaling until his lungs burned, and then he tapped ash from the cigarette and watched it twirl down to the ground.

“Yeah, well, he’s a boring son of a bitch that cries too easily,” Klaus hummed. He returned the cigarette back to Dave. “Psychopaths are supposed to, like, kill cats and shit. I’ve never killed a cat for fun before. Adopted a few stray ones, or got adopted by them, who knows, but that’s about it. Well, I’d maybe kill my neighbour’s cat back home, but that’s because that one’s a bastard and tries to kill me.”

Dave snorted. “How can a cat be that much of a bastard?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Klaus groaned, tipping his head back. “Seriously, last time I saw it it ate all of my donuts while I was asleep – not just one or two little ones, no, proper big ones, a whole box of them. Had the audacity to scratch me when I marched it back to its owner.”

“You made an enemy of a cat, then,” said Dave.

“It made an enemy out of me,” he returned. “But yeah, no, no cat killing other than that exception. I solemnly swear I’m not a psychopath.”

He wondered if he was. His finger tapped his chin and he mentally noted to raise that question to Ben whenever he might see him again, see what he has to say about that. Bastard would probably say yes just to rile him up, though. No, he decides he’s not a psychopath, but he also decides there are only so many screaming corpses a guy can handle before going a little off the rails, and he’s completely justified in however his mind might have twisted itself to deal with that.

“Well, I’ll just have to believe you on that one,” said Dave, and Klaus grinned.

 

###

 

“Why do you never talk about your family?”

The question caught him off guard. They’re on leave, sitting outside alone. A joint dangled from Klaus’ fingers and his head was already pleasantly fuzzy with alcohol and he had certainly not been prepared for the sudden change in topic from pie to that.

“Why do you want to know about them?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Dave who shrugged.

“They’re a part of your life,” he stated. Klaus scoffed.

“Unfortunately. You don’t want to hear about my family, that shit’s on reserve for, like, the world’s best therapist.”

Dave raised an eyebrow curiously. “You know, my mom says family’s one of the most important things,” he stated, oh so Dave-like of him, “but then my dad was a real piece of shit and I don’t care if he’s family or not, I’m never talking to him again.”

That, though, that was new. Klaus hummed, leaning back and turning his gaze to the sky. “My family’s a whole new kind of fucked up, Davey,” he sighed. “You’re opening a whole can of worms that made my last therapist at AA have a breakdown.”

“I’ll bite,” said Dave. Klaus took a healthy drag of his joint, watching the tip smoulder in the darkness.

“I have six siblings. We’re all adopted. Dad raised us all to be child soldiers, except for one who he just ignored for, like, the majority of her life because she’s useless. He didn’t give us real names. Legally, I’m still called Number Four. Never got that shit changed.” He made a mental note to do that. “We all have superpowers. Luther has super strength, Allison can alter reality, Diego can curve knives when he throws them and hold his breath for, like, ever. Five can manipulate time and space. Ben had monsters in his stomach that he struggled to control. Vanya didn’t have anything.”

He turned to look at Dave and couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that came onto his face at his expression. He eyed Klaus as if searching for proof of lies, blinking owlishly. “In that case,” he said, “what’s your power?”

Klaus grinned even wider, turned it into something fierce, bitter. “I can see ghosts,” he said. “And a little bit of telekinesis, too. Ghosts are the main thing, though. My brother, Ben, he’s dead. He kicks it with me though.” He tilted his head to the side, watching Dave curiously. “Do you believe me?”

Dave blinked. “I don’t know why you’d lie. And if you have telekinesis, you could just show me.”

“I lie about everything,” stated Klaus. “And why prove it if I can have your trust?”

Dave eyed him with a glint in his eyes, a sudden intensity that Klaus didn’t really understand. And then he nodded. “Yeah, I believe you.”

“Good answer,” said Klaus with a grin, and a little tension slipped out of his shoulders that he didn’t know had even built up there.

“But even at that, why don’t you like them?” Dave asked. Klaus sighed, pressing his lips together.

“We used to get on,” he stated, “as kids. Then dear old dad made fuckin’ everything a competition. We were either trying to kill ourselves or one another to hear him say some kind of praise to us, and he played favourites. When Five ran away when we were thirteen, he got harsher on us. And I – I was always his least favourite, you know? Maybe a little above Vanya, but I don’t think he ever hated her – just couldn’t give a single fuck about her. I’d rather that. He fuckin’ despised me.”

Vanya, as far as he was concerned, had a childhood he could only dream of. Being ignored by Reginald? Excluded by their stuck up siblings? He could only dream of it. It’d be Hell to try and go and erase all traces of himself from all of the Umbrella Academy’s records, but maybe it’d be worth it. Then he could just up and vanish completely. Not like his siblings would care.

“He trained us with our powers, you know. Back then I only saw the ghosts, so he tried to make me work with them. And, you know, ghosts aren’t such nice things, you know? You’ve – you’ve seen dead bodies out here. Imagine them, but upright and following you, crying and yelling and screaming. Begging for your help and then trying to kill you when you can’t help. Imagine it every single day, every single hours.” His teeth ground together almost painfully and he turned wild eyes to a very still Dave.

“I didn’t like it. I told him to fuck himself. Found out when I broke my jaw that I couldn’t see ghosts when I was high, so I got high. He was pissed, of course. I was useless, getting high and drunk all the time because I hated the ghosts, and on missions I was useless, and I pissed off my siblings. They hated how loud I spoke.” A small grin spread his lips. “I had to work on that. I used to yell all the time. How was I supposed to know? I couldn’t hear myself because the ghosts never stopped screaming. I worked on it, though.”

“But I was useless and annoying. But they could – they could understand one another. Ben hated his training, and that was fair. They understood when Luther came back all tired and sore. Understood when Allison couldn’t speak, or when Five passed out. But me? They never cared. Never noticed when I went for training for hours, overnight. Never listened when I said I was _scared_. Thought I argued with daddy just for the shits and giggles of pissing him off – and that was partially it later. They didn’t try to understand why I did what I did, and they still don’t.”

Dirt caked underneath his fingernails as he dug his fingers into the ground beneath him and he was aware that he was rambling, jumping from point to point, that he probably looked like the psychopath that Brown thought he was, but he had started now and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop voicing the train wreck of his thoughts that were a constant stream in the back of his head that he always pushed down and refused to acknowledge.

“You know, when Ben died, they called me a piece of shit and an attention whore,” he laughed. “Because I said he was there. Because I saw them. They didn’t believe me, even though that was my whole thing. So I got so high I couldn’t see him for two months. They got pissed off at me for sneaking out, and they tried their best to avoid me when we left the Academy. Stopped coming when I was in the hospital. Luther – Luther, oh, once I broke back into the Academy because there was a storm and I had nowhere to go, and he kicked me out because he said I’d steal. He wasn’t wrong, though. And Allison, she said – she said she was scared to have me at her wedding, you know? She didn’t invite me. I saw it online, because she’s an actress and there were pictures up a week after, and she looked beautiful. Everyone was there. I would have gotten sober for it.”

He closed his eyes tightly. He was being pathetic. He was blurting every little incident out onto Dave so suddenly. He was overthinking things. He didn’t care about any of this anymore; he was a lying, thieving junkie and an attention whore and he knew and revelled in that fact, and the fact he was simply the disappointment of the family and that they were disgusted by them. And he was fine with that. He hated them, too. But he sounded as if he was still hung up over things that happened years ago.

He opened his eyes and grinned at a solemn Dave. “They just never cared. Never tried to, not about the important things. They wouldn’t have gotten me off the drugs, but they never tried to understand why I did that in the first place. Didn’t seem to realise that corpses aren’t pretty. Never bothered to learn why I’d scream my throat raw. And I got fed up of it, and I realised it doesn’t matter. I’m having a good time, now. It’s fine. But that’s why I don’t want to talk about them. Because they’re pieces of shit and so am I, and I’d rather forget about them entirely.”

The silence after he finished talking was almost painful. He avoided Dave’s eyes, focusing on the joint in his hand instead. There were countless of incidents he could list off in detail to show Dave how shitty they were. He could recount when Allison stopped answering his calls, when even her agent stopped taking messages and told him to stop calling. He could recount the first time he overdosed and woke up in hospital alone, or the way they stopped coming, one by one. The arguments when he was high, the looks of disgust and disappointment, the manhandling. The times they’d walked past him on the streets and turned away quickly. When Klaus had gone to Diego’s at night, high and looking for a bed because Ben had said it was going to get cold, only to see the lights turn off in the window and for him to fall silent inside. The way Luther always backed up Reginald in arguments and wore the identical chilling look as him. The days he returned from the mausoleum, voice gone and skin ashen, and it was assumed he was out getting high.

They didn’t care about the shit he went through. They didn’t care about him. And they wouldn’t even notice he had been kidnapped. They wouldn’t notice he’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” said Dave, his voice gentle and soft and sincere. Klaus swallowed. Dave’s hand settled on top of his and when Klaus didn’t argue, he shuffled closer and moved his arm around his shoulders. Klaus leaned slightly into his side, still tense and avoiding his gaze, mechanically lifting the joint to his lips.

“Sometimes,” Dave said, “family’s what you make it, not blood.”

Klaus closed his eyes. For once, he didn’t feel angry. Just age old wounds reopen and hurt all over again.

 

###

 

Dave was a bad dancer. Not that Klaus could say much in his own defence either. He thought it was endearing, though, and he loved to see him when his cheeks were flushed and he was enjoying himself, dancing to the music.

He staggered backwards when they bumped into one another, a grin spreading his lips.

There was something about Dave. Something Klaus couldn’t quite place, something he was scared to try to place. Something that made his heart race and stomach flutter almost painfully. And just then, there was something in his eyes, his face, that Klaus couldn’t look away from, something that froze him and made the world around him melt away to nothingness. Breath stolen from his lungs, and it was something new to him.

 

###

 

They toe around it. Lingering touches, lingering gazes, eyes flicking up and down one another as they gesture vaguely at the elephant in the room but continue not to mention. They sit a little closer together. Dave tells him such nice things that it almost drives him mad.

Klaus leaned close and whispered; “I can’t hear you here. Let’s go somewhere else.” He grabbed his wrist and brought him away from the bar, away from everyone else, to an empty hallway where the music still vibrated but didn’t pound inside his skull so much.

Dave said something that made him laugh. Some shitty joke that was just so Dave. His laughter faded slowly like cigarette smoke in the air and he could smell whiskey on Dave’s breath, and Dave lifted a hand to rest it on Klaus’ cheek as he chuckled slowly, softly, and it drifted down to settle on his neck, resting against his collar bone. His head tipped up to meet him, slumped as he was against the wall, and Klaus twisted in front of him and they met one another, lips interlocking, Klaus’ hips against Dave’s.

Fireworks went off in his stomach, as if this was just right, more than some drunken kiss, and Dave’s hands curled around the back of his neck ever so gently tugging him even closer, and Klaus’ hand hugged his hip, and the only thing that mattered was the way music vibrated the floor beneath his feet and the heat of Dave’s hand as he tugged him down the corridor and behind a locked door.

 

###

 

The division was his family now. Odd as they might think he is, he saw brothers around him, and he’d give his life for them more than he would give his life in missions at the Academy. He joined them when they raised glasses for their fallen brothers, and he tried to ignore the gentle approach Dave had with him, like he couldn’t handle his own approach to himself.

It was unnerving but not unwelcome, the gentleness of which he had when they were alone, when Klaus woke up swallowing screams, when his eyes filled with tears and he laughed them away.

“I never told anyone about it,” Klaus muttered, voice hollow. “Ben knows. Couldn’t hide it from him. But the others, they never found out. Just assumed I snuck out by myself. Came back in a state and they’d assume I deserved it.”

Dave’s thigh was against. Warm, solid, real, alive. “He said I needed to stop being so scared. Said it was for the best. It was bullshit, of course. Never worked. All that exposure, shock tactics just made me hate it worse. But that – that was always the worst. He’d lock me in there for hours. Leave me there overnight. Put bars over the windows when I tried to climb out.”

He could still feel the way the bars had dug into him when he had tried to squeeze past them. His ribs and shoulders had been bruised, glass had cut his fingers. He had begged Reginald until his voice was raw that night.

“Those ones never left me. They were worse than the others. Wouldn’t stop screaming.” His nails dug into his skin. He’s sure that they’d love for his powers to get out of control so they could dig their nails into him, scream and tear him apart like they said they would. “No one noticed. He locked me in a mausoleum for hours and no one cared.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever said it out loud. Ben knew, but he’d found out through nightmares and flashbacks and sleep talking and it’d been easy to put two and two together. He’d never said it out loud. Couldn’t get the words past his lips.

Dave’s arms were grounding around him, his lips brushing his hair, and he didn’t laugh this one off.

No one cared. No one except Dave.

 

###

 

Dave was grinning, laughing at the shitty joke Klaus had made.

“I can’t believe you did that,” said Dave.

“Should’ve expected it,” shrugged Klaus. Dave kissed the corners of his lips, gently, mindful of the busted lip he sported. “Someone had to say it.”

Dave snorted. “You’re insane,” he accused.

“Only for you,” Klaus cooed, fingers toying with the hem of Dave’s shirt. “Don’t lie and say you don’t like it. You’re wrapped around my little pinky. You like the wild card.”

He rested his forehead against Dave’s. “So what if I do?” Dave hummed, grin matching his. “I do. I love you, Klaus.”

And that was more serious than what Klaus had been going for. Fooling around, trust, feelings; he could accept it. But love? He isn’t sure he could deal with that.

But it’s Dave. Dave, with his shitty jokes and his deep laugh and his advice and his endless patience and understanding, that makes him feel something he never has.

“I’m-“

“I love you,” said Klaus, a little rushed. “I love you too.”

He hurried forwards to catch Dave’s lips before the words could suffocate himself with the weight of them. Dave kissed back eagerly, but he changed it. Mindful of his throbbing lip, he held Klaus’ face in his hands and kissed his cheeks, his jaw, the corners of his mouth and the tip of his nose, his neck. He interlocked their fingers and kissed his bruised knuckles.

 

###

 

Dave had a way of calming him down. Whether he be upset and distant or pacing, his fists clenching and unclenching, or whether his hands were shaking around his joint and his eyes were wild and there was a laugh bubbling up in his throat, unhinged and bitter; Dave could calm him down.

He couldn’t say no to Dave, couldn’t protest when Dave took his hands, or settled a hand onto his back, or held him close. He brought a sense of safety and managed to work tension out of him, work him back down to reality and clarity. It was almost odd how easily he could do it when even Ben struggled to do so, before Ben had begun to feed into it, feed off of it.

Klaus was almost impressed. No, he definitely was. Dave never ceased to keep surprising him.

 

###

 

He had been enjoying their leave. It was well deserved, he thought. They had been working hard, losing good men, and this leave was cut short to send them back out and right onto the front lines.

“Good things never last,” grumbled Roger, clambering onto the bus and settling behind Dave and Klaus. “Better get a damn medal when we go home.”

Klaus snorted.

###

 

“I’m not saying it’s in case something bad happens,” said Dave, holding them out. “I just want you to have them.”

Klaus frowned, eying the dog tags in his hand. “But if it does-“

“Nothing bad’ll happen, darling,” said Dave, soft and sweet. He caught Klaus’ hands and tugged him close, standing between his legs so that Dave had to look up and Klaus couldn’t avoid his gaze by looking at the floor. “But I want you to have them.”

“Promise me,” said Klaus, childishly. Dave grinned.

“I promise,” he said, then slid them over Klaus’ neck.

 

###

 

“We’ll go home,” said Dave, whispered to him in the night and almost stolen on the wind. “Or go somewhere new and make a home there. Could get a farm. I think you’d work well with lambs.”

“Me? Work with lambs?” Snorted Klaus, jabbing him with the butt of his rifle. “You’re a farm boy, Dave.”

“So what if I am?” Pouted Dave. “You’d like it, I know it. We could get dogs and cats. Grow strawberries or some shit.”

“Or some shit,” echoed Klaus with a laugh. “Alright. Deal. We go make a home and grow strawberries or some shit with some lambs and cats and dogs. That the dream life for you, Davey?”

“As long as you’re with me, yes.”

“Shut up,” said Klaus, cheeks warm, and they both knew he didn’t mean that at all.

 

###

 

Good things don’t last.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no no; look at me, look at me. You’re not allowed to do this, look at me, Dave, Dave, fuck, oh _fuck_ -”

His hands were slick with blood. So much blood, and it wouldn’t stop. Slipping like a rush of wine through his fingers and staining his shirt, trickling down his pale arms, painting over his own veins. Dave’s eyes were full of pain, incoherent. Blood trickled past his lips, body jerking beneath Klaus’ touch.

“Home,” keened Klaus, “we were going to make a home – you can’t leave me, you can’t – where’s the fucking medic, god damnit?”

The medic wasn’t anywhere near. Wouldn’t hear him over the sound of explosions and gunshots and screaming, wouldn’t distinguish Klaus’ screaming.

Dave’s eyes stopped focusing. He stopped choking on his own blood, stopped twitching and jerking, wheezing.

“No, no, no – Dave, please, you fucker, you promised me, you _promised_ , you can’t do this, _please_ don’t do this, I love you-“

Hands on him. Someone yelled something about a retreat, someone told him to get to his feet and run already.

“Fuck off!” Klaus yelled back, struggling against the bruising hands on him, pulling him away from the advancing enemy, away from Dave. “Fuck you, fuck you, we can’t leave him, you bastard, you can’t leave him – let me go!”

Gunshots. Someone else fell. A bullet whizzed by with a hiss and Klaus’ knees buckled at the sudden pain in his thigh. It was the opportunity they needed, for he stopped thrashing so violently, and Klaus couldn’t see Dave anymore.

 

###

 

“Yesterday,” he said, wheezed through his tight throat. “Go back to yesterday, take me to yesterday, _please_ -“

The briefcase devoured him in a violent storm of blue.

He fell onto a bus, years away from Dave, and when horror rose up like a tidal wave, he replaced it with hatred, with a scream torn from his throat as he ignored Ben’s sudden face and threw the briefcase into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments! I'm sorry he had to die, but Dave's death felt pretty important to me for this version of Klaus and it just had to happen


	8. Ghost In Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The ground did not give way to his fingers when he fell upon it, scratching at unfamiliar concrete rather than dirt and leaves. His fingertips stung, still stained red with blood. Dave was gone from him, left alone on some jungle floor, abandoned. He had promised to him, and Klaus had promised as well. And he'd let him die and left him to rot.

His dog tags hung heavily from his neck and he curled his hand around it, tight, metal digging into the palm of his hand. He looked around the unfamiliar streets, the people that walked down the pavement and gave him a wide berth, eying him with something akin to disgust. 

Everyone looked at him like that. Everyone except Dave.

"Sir?" Someone said, lingering a few feet away from him.

"Fuck off," he snapped, eyes cold, and the person abruptly stepped back, hands up, and then walked away. Klaus clambered upright onto his feet, his thigh burning though he paid it no mind, looking around at the streets around him. He recognised the streets now. He recognised them with a bitterness. He's only a few a streets from the Academy. He recognised the pawn shop opposite himself, recognised the bar further down.

The briefcase spat him out right onto the Academy's doorstep, basically, like a punch in the guts. It stole everything from him and spat on him, sent him back to Hell. It took everything from him and sent him to the place of his undoing. 

"Fuck!" He spat, and he whirled around to face the wall of a building, immediately driving his fist into it with no hesitation. Pain ricocheted up through his knuckles, sharp and aching, and then he pulled it back and sent it forwards again and again and again, until his hand was throbbing and his knuckles bloody. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

His teeth ground together painfully. Dave’s blood was on his hands, on his arms, on his cheek. It was under his fingernails, on his clothes. He was dead. The only person who deserved to live more than anyone else. He’d swap places in an instant, swap just about – no, literally – anyone for him in their place. But of course, what should he have expected to happen? Klaus was a walking curse, death followed him everywhere, and he’d been around Dave so long it was stupid to think it wouldn’t devour him.

He needed to go back. He needed him back.

The Academy. Five.

He set off on a mission, then. Turning and powering down the street, away from the remnants of the burning briefcase, and into the Academy. For some reason, there seemed to be more ghosts on the street today. They stood in the middle of the road, rippling with each car that passed through them, and they hovered in alleyways, around corners, by windows. And, for some odd reason, they were quiet. Eerily so. They simply stood and watched Klaus go, his hands curled into fists by his side, his mind a battlefield as a war raged between his emotions. Was he angry, or was he sad? Furious or depressed? At who? Was he hopeless, spent, just so _fed up_? He was all of them, and he didn’t want to feel any of it.

The Academy was quiet when he stormed inside. He lingered at the bottom of the stairs, almost angry that he couldn’t hear anyone, that he couldn’t see any of his siblings (sans Ben) to go and yell at, to pick a fight with. He even turned and poked his head into the living room, but the only people that were there were ghosts, crowding the room and staring at him, pale-faced and mangled and oh so silent. There were the family portraits, too, and he couldn’t stop staring at them.

He hated being a part of the Umbrella Academy. He hated being a Hargreeves, hated Reginald, hated his siblings. A chance at a normal life had been stolen from him, stolen by the hands of some sadistic, abusive bastard. Was he happy with how Klaus had turned out? Did he look up at him from Hell and show any satisfaction that Klaus had progressed with his powers? No, of course he wouldn’t be. He would mutter curses at him. And Klaus would still crave his approval, deep down, even after everything.

Klaus rose his hand, tore the picture right off the wall from the opposite side of the room and threw it aside. It landed on the antlers hung up on the wall. One of the antlers impaled the picture, tore right through Klaus’ face, tore him out of the family, and the painting swung for a moment before falling still. He was sure the others would like it better like that too.

He wished he could tear away from the Umbrella Academy like that. Wish he could cut himself apart from it so cleanly, so permanently, but it was everywhere now, deep in his blood, clinging to the crevices and shadows of his mind, tattooed into his skin. It enveloped him, trapped him like a cage, like a _mausoleum_ , and it wasn’t _fair_. Everything that had been done to him, the cards life had handed him, the life fate had weaved for him. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want any of it, and now he couldn’t get rid of it.

But he almost had. With Dave.

He turned, leaving the living room and ascending the stairs. The ghosts followed at a distance. More only seemed to come. He paid them no mind. His thigh ached even worse after the stairs, the wound still open and bleeding, and it made everything pleasantly hazy, distant, blurred.

He stood in the doorway to his bedroom. Writing, similar to that on the walls of his shitty apartment, covered the walls in inconsistent, messy scrawls. Everything was disorganised, messy, and it smelled of death. Or perhaps that was just Klaus now. He could see himself, young, sitting on his bed with his shoulders hunched high, his jaw locked, reading the label of a bottle of pills he had stolen from the infirmary. He could see himself sneaking in through the window, his pupils blown because someone had shown him something amazing, much better than weed. He could see Grace comb through his room while Reginald held his arm, bruising, in the doorway. He could see Reginald let go of his arm only to backhand him when Grace lifted a bag of weed. He could see himself, with no voice and red eyes, as he stuffed everything he owned into a bag and clambered out of the window.

“Klaus.”

He startled ever so slightly. Things in the room that had been floating crashed to the ground. He hadn’t noticed he had been doing that. He turned around to look at Five, standing just behind him, face schooled into an unreadable expression. It wasn’t fair to hate Five for the Umbrella Academy, because Five hadn’t been here for the worst of it. But it was fair for him to blame the Commission on him.

“What are you doing?”

“I need you to do something,” said Klaus, swallowing dryly. Five’s eyebrows drew together slightly.

“Do what?” He looked him up and down, eyed the dog tags around his neck (Klaus wrapped a bloody hand around them protectively, hiding them, hiding Dave, out of Five’s sight.) “What happened?”

Klaus’ lips twitched. His eyes stung. He grinned. “I need you to do something,” he repeated. “I need you to time travel. You need to send me back.” The words tumbled off his tongue quickly, staggering, unhinged. “You need to send me back in time, Five.”

Five’s eyes narrowed at him and he took a step back. “Why?” He asked.

“Nineteen-sixty-eight,” Klaus insisted, “you need to.”

“Why?” Five repeated, holding his ground. Dave’s dog tags dug into his hands. “What happened, Klaus?”

“They took me,” said Klaus, and his voice wobbled, sounding dangerously close to tears and so he laughed instead. “Hazel and Cha-Cha. They shot the house up looking for you, and then they kidnapped me. And I stole their briefcase.”

Five seemed to melt at those words, shoulders relaxing slightly and a sudden spark appearing in his eyes. “You stole it?” He repeated. Klaus nodded his head like an eager child. “What did you do with it? Where is it?”

“It’s broken,” said Klaus. “And that’s why I need you to send me back.”

The spark in his eyes flickered and died. “It’s broken,” he echoed, disbelief clear in his words. Klaus nodded again. When Five opened his mouth to talk, Klaus interrupted him.

“You need to send me back, Five. You have to.” He held out the hand not holding Dave’s dog tags, though still coated in blood, towards Five, looking between it and him with a purposeful stare. Five took a step back into the corridor. Klaus took one forwards.

“I can’t do that,” said Five, his voice cold. “How did you manage to break the briefcase? How could you be so stupid?”

Klaus’ nostrils flared. Five shook his head and took a step away and Klaus could see how he braced himself to jump through space. Klaus lunged forwards, grabbing his wrist before he could. The grin fell off his face. “Send me back, Five.”

Five eyed him, a little shocked, then eyed his hand on his wrist. “Don’t touch me,” he said, lips curling in disgust, but Klaus’ grip only tightened when he tried to tug his hand free.

“Send me back, then,” he insisted. “I know you can do it. Don’t lie to me, Five.” His teeth ground together. Everyone lied to him. He was sick of it. _~~(Everyone except for Dave.)~~_

“What do you think you’re doing, Klaus?” Five asked, standing upright and glaring at him. Though in a child’s body, he spoke and stood with the authority of someone superior than Klaus, and it dug under his skin like maggots on a corpse. “You don’t even understand what you’re asking me to try and do it. It’s physically impossible-“

“It wouldn’t be if you could just control your damn powers,” Klaus hissed. “Just send me back there, Five, and stop fucking around.”

Five’s jaw ticked as if Klaus had hit a soft spot there. He probably had. Five had been so obsessed with his powers, with learning more, and that’s the exact reason he had gotten stuck in the apocalypse. Klaus knew it was a soft spot.

He yanked his hand free of Klaus’ grip. “As if you’re one to talk,” he scoffed. “You couldn’t even begin to understand the complexity to my powers, the sensitivity and control it takes. You can’t even handle your own, you never could.”

Klaus grinned, something bitter and fierce, and that anger, that old, familiar friend of his, rose in him again. “But I’ve changed,” said Klaus. “You couldn’t last a day with my powers, Five. You can’t even begin to think of the half of it.” His eyes flicked to the left, just over Five’s shoulder. A ghost that belonged to his brother, not part of the crowd he had gathered that filled the corridor, though gave Klaus a wide berth. John Cotter, from 1921, in a state of utter shock from his death, dripping salt water. There was Amy Smith, from 1983, and there was Oscar Garcia, 2003; Adem Yavuz; Lada Baranova; a child who couldn’t talk because she was crying and only ever asked for _maji, maji._ Could Five live with that? And all the others? Recounting their deaths, screaming, begging, cursing. “You’d try to kill yourself,” accused Klaus, and his grin spread. “And it would never work.”

Five eyed him, jaw set, and then he shook his head minutely. “Don’t flatter yourself,” said Five. “The drugs seem to have gotten to your ego. You’re asking for the impossible, Klaus. And now I have to go sort this out, because you broke the briefcase,” he sneered.

Klaus grit his teeth and before Five could jump elsewhere, he lashed out, grabbing his blazer. He pushed him through his own ghosts, able to shove him against the wall while he was surprised, and he really didn’t care about fair anymore. Not when fair was Dave’s death, apparently. It wasn’t fair, nothing was ever fair for him, and he was fed up of having to be the nice person, the quiet person, the compliant person. He was angry, and if Dave stayed dead, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

“Send me back right now, Five,” he hissed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? You’d never have to see me again, and I know that’s tempting.” He let out a small laugh with a fake smile, his eyes unchanging, burning fiercely.

Five disappeared. Klaus fell forwards against the wall and didn’t have enough time to turn around before Five was there, shoving him against it with one hand reaching up to his neck.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing exactly, Klaus?” He hissed, voice low. Did Five speak when he killed those people? Did he come up from behind, place a hand upon their neck, and in a voice like death, whisper what he’d do to them if they didn’t comply, and then do it anyway?

“Get the fuck off of me,” growled Klaus, and he reached a hand out to grab his wrist and squeeze. Five disappeared out of his grip and he turned around quickly, coming face to face with him again. “Just do it, Five, it’s not that hard. Why can’t you understand that? I need to go back.”

“You’re insane,” snorted Five, “and deaf, because I told you that I can’t do that. Touch me again, Klaus, and I don’t care that we’re brothers. You’ll regret it.”

Klaus laughed. What’s the worst that Five could do to him? Kill him? Hurt him in the same way he hurt the ghosts? It’s nothing he’s never seen before. In the grand scheme of things, pain was fleeting, and Klaus would laugh his way through it. Five could do nothing to him, and Klaus told him as such.

“There’s nothing you can do to hurt me, Five,” he stated, prowling forwards. He needed Dave. He needed to go back. He wanted to wash away the Academy and this life and pretend like he was never a person before Dave, wanted to cut this life, this version of himself, away from himself entirely. He couldn’t see any other life. What would he do if Five left him in the corridor, bloody and bleeding? What would he do, where would he go?

He could summon Dave’s ghost. He knew this. But would he be able to look Dave in the eyes while blood poured out of him? Of the same wound that Klaus had tried, uselessly, to staunch, that he had screamed for a medic over? It was different with the fear and the horror that had come with watching him die. He wasn’t sure he could see that again. He wanted to stay with Dave in a different time, away from everyone else, doing everything short of changing his name.

Five eyed him and whenever Klaus’ hands reached out, he simply jumped a few feet away. He looked Klaus up and down, then, his face unreadable, anger controlled. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Klaus, but you need to get yourself under control,” he stated, and then he was gone and Klaus didn’t know where. He huffed, cheeks puffing, flaming with embarrassment and anger.

“Fuck you!” He yelled, looking around the corridor. “Fuck you, Five! _Fuck you_!” He stormed up to Five’s bedroom door, throwing it open. “Don’t fucking run away from me,” he hissed, but Five’s bedroom was empty – save for some mannequin. Klaus dug his nails into the palms of his hands, shaking, trembling, and he ran his hands through his hair.

He needed Dave. He needed drugs. He needed to be alone, utterly alone, completely alone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he breathed, wide eyed. He was tracking blood into Five’s room, the wound in his thigh still bleeding sluggishly as if it didn’t have a lot of blood to give anymore. He felt drained; drained of everything. Wrung out, worn thin, defeated. He felt dead, or like some corpse on puppet strings, being manipulated by anyone and everyone, dancing like some fool for everyone’s entertainment.

“Klaus?”

He stilled, shoulders high. Could he not catch a break?

“I heard you yelling.”

“Leave me alone.” He didn’t turn around.

“Are you bleeding?” Diego’s voice was tinged with concern.

“Leave me alone.” Did he have drugs in here? Not enough. Maybe some weed and some pills if he was lucky, but he was craving something more, something in a syringe, something that might make God mad at him.

“Klaus-“ His hand brushed against his and he flinched away. Finally, he turned around to look at Diego. Diego hesitated, looking him up and down, eyebrows drawing together. Klaus slid around him, heading towards the staircase again. He’d go home and he’d take whatever drugs were in his apartment, and then maybe go to John’s apartment and see if he had anything to spare.

Diego followed him. He might have been saying something, but Klaus couldn’t be sure, nor did he really care. He got, perhaps, two stairs down before his vision grew suddenly dark and his legs buckled. Before he could tumble down the large staircase, however, an arm grabbed his and then wrapped around his waist, holding him upright.

“Fuck off,” Klaus grumbled, blinking rapidly and shoving at Diego’s chest and arms.

“What happened?” Diego asked, looking him up and down. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Leave me alone.”

“You can’t stand, bro.”

“Don’t call me that, Diego,” Klaus hissed, once more trying to yank himself free from his grip. But his injured leg seemed to have just fully given out on him, refusing to hold up any weight let alone walk on it, so he was stuck hobbling against Diego as he took him back up the stairs, rather than going down the full staircase, and into a nearby bathroom. He sat him on the closed lid of the toilet and, begrudgingly, Klaus stayed there, his hands on his thigh. The pants he was wearing were heavy with blood, damp and sticking to his leg, pooling obviously from one specific point before trailing down to his ankle in his heavy, muddy boots.

Klaus avoided looking at Diego as he rummaged in the cupboards. “What happened?” He asked. Klaus shot him a glare.

“I got shot,” he answered in a grumble. Diego turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“How the fuck did you get shot?” He asked. Klaus shrugged and looked away, unwilling to delve into the story. Vietnam and the Umbrella Academy were two different parts of his lives; two different lives in general, and they weren’t about to mix. They weren’t allowed to hear about Dave or his division.

Diego gave him a look, frustrated, but he huffed a breath and came over. “Pull them down, then.”

“I can do this by myself,” Klaus stated. Diego shrugged mutely in return and didn’t hand over the bandages when Klaus held out his hand, bloody and shaking. With an irritated sigh, Klaus shimmied the pants down his legs, enough to get past the wound. Diego came up to him, grimaced, and then he knelt down by him and, with a cloth, began to clean some of the blood away.

“Why are you doing this?” Klaus asked him, tense and thoroughly uncomfortable. Letting Diego so close was uncomfortable; Diego being arguably kind to him was unsettling. He wanted Diego to call him a pathetic junkie and to kick him out of the Academy once again, to leave him alone.

“Because you’re hurt,” said Diego. Klaus scoffed. That hadn’t meant a thing before in the past. What changed now? “Can I ask what that yelling match with Five was about?” Klaus narrowed his eyes at him.

“I wanted him to help me with something,” he said, then looked away. “But he’s a little bastard and won’t.”

“What is it?”

“The only way you can help me, Diego, is by leaving me alone.”

Diego eyed him, lips pressing together. Klaus avoided his gaze. He was exhausted. He wanted Dave to be the one to help fix him up, wanted Dave to press a gentle, always so gentle, kiss to his forehead, to run his hands through his hair and hold him in the night when they could be alone together. He wanted Dave, with no injury, no pain in his eyes, no blood staining him. Klaus closed his eyes and curled a hand around his dog tags, as if it might simulate his hand, fingers slotting between his perfectly, warm in comparison to Klaus’ ever cold hands.

“Why are you pushing us away?” Diego asked him suddenly. Klaus grit his teeth together. It would be so easy to get angry with him. So easy to tell him exactly why, the whole list of reasons, and it would be easy to shove him away, call him a bastard, and storm out and never see him or the others again. But he was so tired.

“Would you have ever came if I called for you?” Klaus returned. Diego eyed him.

“I have.”

Klaus shook his head. “No, you haven’t.”

Diego pressed his lips together. He cleaned the cloth when it seemed as if he was only spreading blood around his pale thigh, and then he returned and cleaned the rest of it, then busied himself on trying to stop the blood flow. Klaus batted at his hands. “The bullet’s probably still in there,” he said, trying to feel for an exit wound on the opposite side of his thigh. Diego grimaced, nodded, and approached taking it out slowly. Klaus found himself with a hand towel folded in his hand, biting down upon it and looking away, eyes screwed shut tight as Diego took it out surprisingly well. Then he continued on with tightly bandaging his thigh.

Diego, holding a new wet cloth, reached for his bloody hands. Klaus twitched, yanking his hands to his chest and away from him. It was Dave’s blood, not his. It was Dave’s, and he couldn’t get rid of it, didn’t want to get rid of Dave, though he knew, realistically, that it was dirty and gross and painful to look at. Diego raised an eyebrow at him and he felt a bit like a confronted child. Slowly, reluctantly, he held his hands out again and tried not to make a sound when Diego cleaned Dave’s blood off of him.

As soon as it was done, Klaus rose to his feet, weight on his good leg. He kicked off the ruined pants, leaving them in a messy pile, and then he immediately made for the door. He’d have clothes in his bedroom, or at least something he could put on, and then he’d make his way back home and drown everything out.

“Bro, you need to relax for a moment,” said Diego, hurriedly coming back up to his side.

“I’m serious, Diego,” he said through gritted teeth, “leave me alone.”

“I don’t think I should,” he replied. Klaus glared at him. He followed him into the bedroom, followed him to the dresser as he rummaged for anything and eventually found some old skirt that he could just pull up easily.

“I think we should talk.”

“Fuck _off_ , oh my God,” groaned Klaus, turning on Diego. “How many times do I need to say it, Diego? Or do you want me to spell it out for you? _Leave_ – _me_ – _alone_!”

“I’m _worried_ about you, Klaus,” Diego snapped defensively, standing in the doorway and blocking his way out. Though if he thought Klaus wouldn’t climb down a fire escape or throw himself out of a window because of a bullet wound, then Klaus might just have to prove him wrong. “I’ve only seen you once and you’re – you’re different. I’m worried for you.”

“No you’re not,” scoffed Klaus. Diego looked, at least, a little affronted.

“Of course I do-“

“Then where were you?” Klaus snapped, voice rising. “Where were you when I needed you, Diego?”

Diego looked a little surprised at his outburst, at the way Klaus’ seemed to fight himself to sound angry and sad, sat on the edge of the bed. He stood up but found he couldn’t bring himself closer to him, his feet rooted to the ground.

“I helped-“

“You never cared,” Klaus hissed, “you weren’t there when I needed you, you never looked out for me, and you don’t care now. I’ve moved on now, Diego. I don’t care anymore. Leave me alone.”

Diego let him slip around him, out onto the corridors, and he watched his back as he left, descending the stairs and letting the doors slam shut behind him. If he cared, Klaus thought, he would have followed him.

 

###

 

Klaus sat on the living room floor. It was dark, uncomfortably so for him, the only light he had coming from flickering candles and a buzzing street light that filtered in through his kitchen window.

He wasn’t high. He was painfully sober, in fact, even if he knew that it didn’t matter these days. Although he wanted to just chase away the world tonight, forget about everything and maybe beg God to let him just stay dead, he had to try. He couldn’t just not try, not even once.

Ben wasn’t sure what he was doing. He hadn’t spoken to Ben about it, actually, which he did feel kind of bad about, but he was sure he would catch on eventually.

His eyes were screwed shut tight and he tried his best to focus on that chill that seemed to whistle through his bones like wind through a graveyard. He tried to tug on it, tried to dip his hands into it like some freezing cold lake, immerse himself in it and embrace it, encourage it to grow and spread and for everything to come to him. Though he wasn’t just looking for any random ghost.

He had to try. He wasn’t sure how much time passed. The candles burned low and the streets outside got quieter, darker, and the pain in his thigh more distant, his body more cold. No one came. And then, a sudden tug, a flood, and the sound of feet scuffling in front of him. He opened his eyes, admittedly expecting to see some random ghost.

A gasp left his lips. He surged forwards, almost tripping in his haste to get upright and focus enough to make his hands glow blue. He threw himself forwards, his heart hammering his ribcage.

“Dave,” he gasped, muffled with his face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, and he couldn’t stop saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dave-“

And Dave, solid beneath his hands and still warm, placed a heavy hand on the small of his back. “It’s okay, darling,” he said, voice soft by his ear. “I’m here, I’m here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least Dave's here!   
> I did intend the fight with Five to get a lot more physical, but to be honest I feel like Five just wouldn't entertain Klaus and fight him. Pin him, sure, but I feel like, unless Klaus thoroughly pissed him off, he'd probably just leave, so I didn't make it blow up like I first thought I would. 
> 
> Please feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments, I love hearing it!


	9. A Lone Ghost in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait! But I hope you enjoy this part!

The floodgates seemed to just completely break open as he looked up at Dave’s face. He started crying and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t shove it down or turn it into laughter like usual. His hands curled tightly into his shirt, head tucked underneath his chin and his eyes screwed tightly shut. He sobbed and he wasn’t entirely certain that it was just over seeing Dave again, but he wasn’t willing to confront what else it might be.

Dave’s hands settled on his back, his arms like a vice around him, comforting and grounding and solid and real, and he wondered what Dave must think of him now, sobbing hysterically into his chest when he’d hardly cried in their time seeing action. He ought to get himself together, but he couldn’t stop despite how much he tried.

But Dave didn’t say anything other than comforting words, and he drank every word in. His voice was like honey, soft and smooth and warm, and oh so real. There was no trace of pain, no sound of blood caught in his throat, no struggle to make his lungs work, and when he forced himself apart from him, lifting his head up and bringing one hand up to swipe furiously at his eyes, there was no gaping wound in his chest. As if to be sure Klaus laid one glowing hand right where it had been. It hesitated an inch from his chest, fearful that he might press down and blood might burst forth to meet his touch. But then Dave leaned forwards, enough so to gently touch his chest to his hand and it remained solid, intact, smooth. There was no heartbeat beneath his fingertips but Klaus was more used to things not having heartbeats rather than actually having them so it didn’t deter him.

A shaky gasp of relief slipped free from his lips. Dave’s mouth curled in a smile and his hand squeezed around his shoulder.

“You’re back,” he said. “You’re back.”

“I’m here,” Dave confirmed. His hand slid down from his shoulder to instead rest on his hip. Klaus couldn’t help himself; at those words he rushed forwards once more, throwing his arms around Dave’s shoulders in another hug. He wanted to replace those memories of blood and cold and stillness entirely, put in their place this moment, where Dave moved around him, laughed, gleeful.

“Uh, not to, like, _intrude_ or anything,” said Ben, but the tone of his voice made Klaus instantly alert. It was restrained, controlled, but there – in the way he said intrude Klaus could hear it, the way _They_ slipped into his voice like They did when he was alive and the Horrors had always been battling for control, bubbling just beneath the surface. “But who is this?”

Klaus slid back, broke the embrace and settled on keeping one hand on Dave’s upper arm. Ben was standing a few feet to his side and, sure enough, his arms were crossed over his stomach.

The Horrors had always been quiet jealous, protective creatures.

“Ben,” said Klaus, waving one hand to Dave. “Meet Dave. Dave; my brother Ben.” Ben’s eyes narrowed, looking Dave in his army fatigues up and down, then he looked to the dog tags hanging from Klaus’ neck, ever observant.

“Where did you go?” Ben asked. Klaus offered a loose smile.

“You see, that’s a bit of a story. Time travelling psychos and all that; that briefcase I stole, my dear, was a time machine! And it sent me right into nineteen-sixty-eight and enlisted me into the Vietnam war, which is where I met Davey here,” Klaus explained. To punctuate his sentence, he leaned forwards, wrapped his arms around Dave and squeezed. “And he’s my ghostly lover.” He paused, pressed his lips together and eyed Ben’s stomach. No longer only just addressing Ben himself, he continued; “and he’s good. He’s one of the good ones.”

Ben frowned as if still unsure, perhaps dissatisfied, and Klaus swore he could see his shirt move a little subtly. But then Ben eyed Dave for several moments and Klaus had no doubt he was listening to the Horror _(Ben had once told him they spoke to him, though in a way he couldn’t really describe.)_

Eventually, much to Klaus’ relief, Ben nodded. His shoulders fell. He couldn’t lose Ben, but he knew of Ben and the Horror’s intertwined emotions; knew of Their jealousy and protectiveness, knew that the chances of Ben and the Horror accepting Dave were slim. If They had rejected Dave, he didn’t know what he would do; he couldn’t lose Dave but he couldn’t let Ben go either.

“Glad that’s out of the way, Dave and I have some catching up to do,” Klaus said, fingers coiling around Dave’s wrist like a snake and dragging him off in the direction of his bedroom. At that, Ben gave him a characteristic look _(and so Klaus knew, with some relief, that the Horror had backed off)_ and Klaus just grinned and kicked his door shut between them. He did, however, extend his powers a little to make Ben corporeal and, as expected, he soon heard the record player loudly crackle to life, full volume in the living room.

“Oh, gee, I wonder why you brought me in here,” drawled Dave, looking around his bedroom and raising an eyebrow at Klaus, who only laughed in response and tugged him even closer, flush chest to chest.

“Are you saying you’re not interested?” He asked, dropping his voice a little lower, huskier, and he saw how Dave’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed lightly. A grin grew on his lips quickly, smug, and Dave surged forwards to hide it with his own lips. They stumbled backwards, hitting the peeling paint wall beside his bed, drawing a grunt out of Klaus which Dave used to his advantage to dominate the kiss. Klaus let him, if only for a few moments because Dave was very much here right now as if his death hadn’t happened, and there was no blood, no fear, no pain, and Klaus needed to get rid of that memory.

The only thing that separated them was that Klaus had a heartbeat; and really, did that even count? Klaus wasn’t sure he’d really classify himself as necessarily alive, despite the heartbeat. He was somewhere between; too dead to be alive, too alive to be dead. He was just trapped in a body that was still alive, like Dave was trapped in a body that wasn’t; somewhere on the same spectrum as Klaus but at the other end.

Klaus wasn’t alive because he couldn’t die; because he was some corrupted version of death itself, because though blood ran through him it was cold and his bones were like that of a skeleton buried six feet under; the marrow hidden inside like an empty tomb. The things that made Klaus weren’t _dead_ ; they were _death_.

And could Dave be counted as dead when he was here, interacting with the world, hot beneath Klaus’ hands – warmer than Klaus himself – and very real, more alive than Klaus? But life had always seemed to grow from Dave in the way death grew from Klaus; it sparked in his eyes, was in the way he laughed, the way light remained even in a bleak and horrific warzone; in the way he kissed and burned his skin as if trying to resuscitate him.

Klaus rushed to meet it; meet him, everything that Dave was.

With Dave, it always felt like he was baring his soul to him in a way he had never done before; not even to Ben. It felt like taking himself apart, piece by piece, spreading it out in front of himself; it felt like showing the shadows in his skull, every haunted look in his eyes, the nightmares that still seized him, the anger that burned hot through him, the fear that grew in him like cobwebs. It felt like standing in the midst of a warzone, surrounded by the very bodies he had killed, surrounded by their lost ghosts, by dying trees and a decaying land, and saying _this is me, all this Death is all I am_.

And Dave had still crossed that warzone and taken his hand and embraced all of it, so long as Klaus could handle the way he made things warm, the way he made things shine, the way he was so utterly and inescapably _alive_.

His head fell onto his chest.

No heartbeat met his ear.

Klaus decided that was perfectly fine with him, because Dave’s leg still moved to slot between one of his beneath the bedsheets, and he was still breathing heavily as if he needed to, his hand hot on the small of his back.

The record player was still playing in the living room.

Inhaling deeply, Klaus let his eyes flutter closed.

“You know,” said Dave, voice hushed ever so slightly. Klaus hummed his acknowledgement. “Have you ever thought about… I dunno; sprucing this place up a bit?” He asked. Klaus’ eyebrows furrowed together and he lifted his head from Dave’s chest to eye him.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with my place?” He asked, feigning insult. Dave’s cheeks flushed.

“I didn’t – I don’t mean that,” he stammered, “nothing _bad_ -“

“I know, David,” Klaus snorted, nudging him lightly. “What is it, though?”

Dave gave a playful glare at him, nudging him back. “Well, the paint’s coming off, and the floorboards are creaky, and the wardrobe door is hanging off and your mirror is cracked. Wouldn’t it be nice to, I don’t know, just maybe repaint, get some new furniture? Make it more homely?”

Klaus gave Dave a sceptical look. “It’s my aesthetic, though,” he said. “Crack addict living in a crack house.”

Dave gave him a look Klaus best described as _very unamused_.

“Still,” he said, “you want somewhere you can say is home. You can go out and come back and feel safe and relaxed in.”

“I do feel safe here!” Klaus defended. “And very relaxed, I’ll have you know.”

“He has a point,” Ben muttered, suddenly in the room; both Dave and Klaus startled and though Dave swiftly checked that the bedsheet were fully hiding their bodies, Klaus didn’t; Ben had seen some shit while with Klaus and, really, if he was going to walk into his bedroom without knocking, he probably deserved to be a little scarred by what he might see.

“Don’t you start,” Klaus grumbled, dropping his face into the crook of Dave’s neck. “Fuck off, Benjamin.”

“Shut up,” Ben scoffed. Klaus heard the familiar sound of a groaning chair as Ben sat down. “One day you’re going to get yourself killed walking through the door and tripping over a syringe.”

Dave looked a little concerned at that. Klaus shrugged. “God’ll send me back, it’s fine.”

“I’m a little lost,” said Dave. Klaus waved one hand lazily.

“Sometimes I die,” he stated. “Actually; I die a lot. It’s a powers thing; God kicks me out of the afterlife, it’s fine.”

“Oh,” said Dave, quietly, staring at the ceiling. “And the syringes?”

“Sometimes I do heroin. Like, occasionally.”

Ben coughed. “Often.” He coughed again.

“Shut _up_.”

“Oh,” Dave repeated, even more quieter. “That’s – uh, not _good_ , Klaus.”

Klaus waved his hand dismissively once more. “It’s fine.”

“Klaus,” Dave said, firm, and Klaus sighed, sitting himself up enough to look at Dave and raise an eyebrow. “Whether or not you can – can come back from – well, uh, death, I guess – it isn’t a justification to hurting yourself.”

Klaus frowned. “I’m not hurting myself,” he defended.

“I think I like Dave,” Ben commented, looking at his nails.

“I think you should fuck off,” Klaus said. Ben flipped him off. Klaus sighed loudly, falling back down none too gently onto Dave’s chest. “Look – we can have a drug talk later, or whatever, but I’d like to spend some relaxing time alone with my dead lover.” He gave Ben a pointed look.

“Here I thought you said you loved me,” Ben grumbled, rising to his feet.

“You have all my familial love, Benny,” Klaus said. “But I also offered to spoon you once and you refused, so that’s on you. You broke my heart and I moved on.”

“I hate you.”

Klaus wiggled his fingers over his shoulder as he heard the sound of Ben’s footsteps retreating and, with that, he slumped once more against Dave with a sigh. Dave’s fingers traced shapes on his shoulder and melted tension from his muscles until Klaus was almost convinced he was just made entirely of jelly.

Maybe Dave had a point though. Perhaps he could try to make this place a home – he liked John, he’d probably end up missing him if he moved elsewhere. He could always redo the paint, get nicer bedsheets, a non-cracked mirror, some carpeting and a portrait, maybe.

Could he do that? Could he create a home here, with John and his annoying cat as his neighbours, his brother and the man he was in love with? It felt like something that just wasn’t made for Klaus; he had never pictured it ever happening in his life.

But maybe, just maybe, it was something that he was allowed now. Something nice that he even deserved.

He was almost convinced Dave might even make him fall asleep – certainly an impressive feat in itself – when there was a bright flash. Klaus startled and, consequently, his own hands stopped glowing and he fell through Dave with a huff, face hitting the mattress. When he lifted his head, rubbing his nose, he saw Five standing there and looking a little confused; fair enough, because he’d just entered Klaus’ bedroom to see him cuddling a man only for him to disappear.

“Five? What the fuck?” He asked, narrowed eyes glaring at him. “Why are you in my bedroom – how did you find my bedroom, actually?”

Five was pale, Klaus noticed. He looked panicked. Five never panicked.

“You need to come home, Klaus,” he stated, glossing quickly over the topic of Klaus’ disappearing lover (though Dave was very much still there, just unseen by Five now.)

Klaus scoffed, slumping back into his bed. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head.

“Put your clothes on,” Five said, ordered, voice going cold. “And get up. Something happened, Klaus; I don’t give a shit what you think.”

“Ooh, testy,” Klaus hummed. “Fuck off, Five.”

“Allison almost died,” he snapped. “I don’t care what you think, Klaus, but if you don’t come now I promise I’ll never let you near any of them again.”

Klaus did pause at that. He stared at Five, narrowed his eyes and sat upright. “What do you mean Allison almost died?” He asked. Five swallowed, almost unnoticeable.

“Harold Jenkins,” he said. “Was with Vanya. Allison went to see them and he must have cut her throat. He must still have Vanya, too; he’s probably using her to get information on us, too.”

And, well, shit.

Klaus got his clothes on.

 

###

 

He did not confront the turmoil that his emotions were – really because there wasn’t time to do so. As soon as his shoelaces were tied, Five was teleporting them into the infirmary. He stumbled, hardly avoiding falling flat on his face and having to grab a table full of surgical equipment to stay upright, then he looked around with wide eyes.

His siblings were staring at him – except for Allison. She was unconscious, laying in a bed in front of him with a bandage on her throat; her skin slightly ashen, eyes seeming to sink a little in her skull. The sight was a shock to him and he paused.

“That guy with Vanya did this?”

Luther nodded, pressing his lips together; Klaus could see barely restrained anger in his eyes. In fact; one of his eyes was ever so slightly swollen – he had a black eye and a bruise on his jaw.

“He do that, too?” He asked, nodding at Luther. Luther’s cheeks flushed and he looked away slightly, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, “I got into a fight with someone else.”

“Shit,” Klaus breathed, then laughed. “I wanna meet the other guy.”

Luther glared at him. “Where were you?” He asked, standing a little more upright. Klaus sighed, rolling his eyes.

“What?”

“Where were you?” Luther repeated, stepping closer. “When Allison needed you? She could have died, Klaus, and you weren’t here.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Klaus said, raising his hands. “How the hell was I supposed to know Vanya had a psycho boyfriend? How was I supposed to know that he was going to go batshit crazy and try to kill Allison?” He retorted. “Where was I? Seems like you weren’t much closer.”

Luther made some kind of noise in the back of his throat like a muffled yell, and then he lunged forwards, fisting his knuckle-bruised fists in his sheer shirt and forcing him back, back, back until he hit a wall, and then he lifted him up so his feet were dangling over the floor. Klaus hissed, grabbing at Luther’s wrists and thrashing. He heard a slight commotion, a chair scraping the floor as Diego hollered.

“Fuck off, you big fucking oaf,” he spat, trying to kick him in the shins.

“I was with her,” Luther growled, voice low and quiet. “I carried her into the infirmary, I held her while she was bleeding out and when she needed me, while you were probably out getting high again since you only care about yourself, right?”

_Blood, hot on his fingers, oozing with each slowing pulse of Dave’s struggling heart, and Klaus could feel his voice begin to give out with how hard he was screaming for help._

Klaus blinked the vivid images away with a sharp, shaky inhale, and then he slammed his fists onto Luther’s chest. “Fuck you! _Fuck_ you, One!” He yelled, vicious.

Luther scowled at him, wrinkling his nose as if disgusted at Klaus. “Dad was right about you,” he muttered.

_Three more hours, Number Four._

He felt like he had whiplash. He was on the front lines, then he was pinned against the infirmary walls, then he was in the mausoleum, Reginald looming over him, and it was so vivid, so real, he couldn’t breathe-

He hit at his chest again, gasping for breath. “You know nothing!” He yelled, voice breaking.

“Luther, let him fucking go,” Diego growled, hand grabbing Luther’s shoulder and yanking him back. Luther’s fists did unfurl though and Klaus fell back onto his feet, one hand bracing himself against the wall. He looked up, glaring at Luther.

“You know _nothing_ ,” he hissed out, and he shoved his way past both him and Diego, hurrying to get out of the infirmary. He knew he wouldn’t make it back to his own apartment so, unfortunately, he settled on heaving himself to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and falling back against it.

His breaths came too quickly; too raggedly; they wouldn’t come at all. He slid down the door until he was sitting, knees high up, and Ben’s voice came quickly to him; familiar, comforting, guiding him through the panic attack.

Truly, they didn’t know a thing about Klaus.

They wouldn’t care if he confided in them that he had held Dave as he died; listened to him choke on his own blood, watched his eyes grow more and more distant, and he could scream all he wanted and no help would come. They wouldn’t care; they wouldn’t understand the fact that, though he would not tell Ben or Dave himself, he saw his hands coated in red in his peripheral, sticky with Dave’s blood, and his breath caught in his throat in fear each time he looked at him, waiting to see that pain on his face, waiting for the blood to spill. They wouldn’t care.

Where was _he_? Where were _they_? Where had they been when Reginald took him for personal training for hours, for days at a time, and he’d come back pale and jittery? Where had they been when he screamed himself awake from nightmares? When he was in alleyways with strangers with a knife to his throat and trying to talk himself out of the situation, or when he was in bars at seventeen with older men who promised to look after his drink for him and so generously offered to take him somewhere safe when he began to pass out, or when it was winter and he had nothing but a stolen fur jacket and a dumpster to try and keep himself warm?

Where were they?

Dave’s hands settled on him and he didn’t realise he’d been doing that, but he leaned into the touch, collapsed into him, and tried to grapple for his anger when all that rose was pain in the form of tears.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that; Dave managed to coax him onto the bed. He allowed Dave to soothe him, to run fingers through his hair, gentle and loving and everything Klaus craved like a starving man. He told stories; some he had already told to him, back to their squad, in ‘Nam, some he had never told Klaus before. He spoke about Christmas with his folks, his sisters, how his gran used to own a farm and Dave had a favourite lamb there.

It did help to calm him down, really. Klaus hid his face in the crook of his neck and learned how to breathe properly again and wished he was back in ‘Nam, as bad as it may sound, because he realised that the Academy had never been a home, nor was his apartment; but with Dave, with his squad mates – that had been his home.

But slowly, Klaus unwound himself. He felt better, honestly, and though he didn’t want to see Luther there was the matter that Allison had almost died – because of Vanya’s boyfriend. Had he been using her, then? Trying to get to them through her? He couldn’t help but feel sick; almost guilty, for Vanya. He didn’t like the feeling. He was already on his feet, toying with the idea of actually going and trying to find Five or Diego, perhaps, and trying to figure out where she was.

And it seemed that the universe heard him, too, for there was a knock at his door – half a knock, really – before it was thrown open and Diego was there. Klaus stiffened subconsciously, Dave disappeared, and Diego didn’t blink.

“Follow me,” he said. Despite everything, Klaus did. He was _curious_ ; not because his gut lurched and his emotions were getting the better of him.

Diego was in a hurry; he was basically running through the corridors with Klaus struggling to keep up. He followed Diego down the hall, downstairs and down more stairs; into a place Klaus had never seen before. A cold, dark place, with cold, grey walls that echoed his footsteps. At the end of the hallway; Luther stood by a door. There was a distant thrumming like that of some large freezer, and that’s what he almost felt like he was approaching. Diego slowed and so did Klaus, then he slowed even more.

There was a door; a thick, heavy door like that of a vault, with a thick window of which Vanya’s fists rained down upon. Her mouth was open, constantly moving, tears running down her face, and yet Klaus couldn’t hear her.

Klaus felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“What the fuck?” He asked, whirling on Luther.

“You locked up our sister,” said Diego, voice low, “because you think she has powers?”

Silence seemed to stretch among them, oppressive, suffocating. “I can’t be the only person that didn’t know this place existed,” Diego muttered. Klaus shook his head. He didn’t know; but it didn’t surprise him.

“I know she has powers. Pogo knew, too – he and dad knew. They hid it for years. Dad hid it because he was afraid,” explained Luther, taking a few steps forwards. Vanya’s fists pounded against the window. “Of her.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Klaus scoffed, throat dry. He swallowed, tongue dashed out across his chapped lips.

“This is fucked,” said Ben, shaking his head. Dave was there. He was silent. He looked sick.

“Is it?” Asked Luther. “Dad’s lied about everything else, why is this so far-fetched?”

And yet would the mausoleum be far-fetched? He couldn’t help but wonder. Vanya’s fists morphed into his own; the window turned to stone, the spikes to ghosts. He blinked the images away.

“So then maybe she killed Leonard?” Diego said, turning to look at Luther. Klaus didn’t know who Leonard was (didn’t know who the Harold Jenkins that Five had mentioned was, either) and so he stayed silent. Vanya turned to look at him. Her lips formed his name, over and over again, only broken to say _please_.

“And cut Allison’s throat.”

It was almost too much.

The fear on Vanya’s face, fear of powers, being locked up – he was sure this must be some sick, twisted joke; they delved into his memories and chose to do this just to make him fall into a panic attack, surely, to push him over the edge that he’s been dangling over for a while now.

“This is Vanya we’re talking about,” Klaus said, unable to look away from her. “She cried when we stepped on ants! Don’t be such a - a fucking idiot, look at her-“

“He’s got a point,” said Diego, turning to face Luther as well. “We don’t have proof – we can’t just lock her up like this without proof.”

“What more proof do you need?” Luther asked. Klaus gestured violently at the door.

“Why don’t we just ask her?” He exclaimed, words heavy with sarcasm. Klaus reached for the door, only for Luther to grab his shoulder and yank him inches away. He startled, whirling and glaring at him, grinding down his anger.

“She needs our help,” Diego said. Klaus paced, walking away from Luther and shaking his head.

“This is fucked up, Klaus,” repeated Ben. “He’s like dad. This is like-“

“I know what it’s like,” Klaus snapped. A brief glance to Diego and Luther assured him, though, they were too busy arguing to listen to him talking to the air. He turned, ready to redo his pacing once more, only to come face to face with Allison, struggling to stay fully upright he noticed. Her face was cold, scarily so, jaw set as she looked at Vanya. Then she held up a notepad. From where he stood, he couldn’t read it, but she struggled forwards, all but shoving it in Luther’s face. Luther only crumpled, shook his head, and when Allison tried to get closer to the door, he simply held her back with an outstretched arm.

Allison didn’t have the strength to protest against him. Her knees buckled and Luther caught her, and it seemed the discussion seemed over; Luther turned to help Allison back upstairs to bed and Diego followed, albeit a little reluctantly. Klaus lingered, looking at Vanya.

She was begging again. Probably screaming her voice raw.

Klaus swallowed against his lurching stomach, and turned around.

 

###

 

“I don’t know if this is a good time to say this,” Dave murmured, sitting next to Klaus. “But I think your family ought to try, like, therapy or something.”

Klaus barked a laugh. “Yeah, we’d need a glass shield between us and the therapist for that,” he said. “Don’t worry, it’s the Hargreeves things to lock one another in cages, apparently.”

Dave’s hand settled on his and Klaus blinked, swallowed, and offered a wavering smile. “You should go see her,” he murmured.

“I don’t think I can,” Klaus admitted. “And I won’t be able to get that door open again, anyway.”

“She would probably like the company,” he stated. Klaus swallowed against guilt.

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. He isn’t sure he could see her again, honestly; those stone walls kept changing each time he blinked, turning old and cracked and covered in cobwebs.

Dave offered a sad smile and nodded, leaning close to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I understand, Klaus. But try and think about it. I know you’re angry at your siblings, but she needs help. You know that. You understand what she’s going through, right?”

“I know,” he grumbled.

“Just think about it, okay?”

Reluctantly, Klaus closed his eyes and nodded, pressing his lips together.

 

###

 

It began quickly, really. Klaus had been half asleep, half in some soul-searching state with Dave playing with his hair.

A small shudder seemed to run through the entire house, instantly getting his attention. Then, immediately after, stronger tremors; things that shook the entire building on its foundations. There was an explosion somewhere deep below him and the sound of crumbling stone.

“What the fuck?” Klaus muttered, rising quickly to his feet; he almost fell as the house seemed to shake. He hurried out of his bedroom on shaky legs, one hand always outstretched, ghosting inches from the wall just in case the house gave a particularly violent lurch and sent him falling.

In the corridor, he saw Diego and Luther in a much similar state. Pogo was there too, standing further down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Klaus asked, subconsciously standing upright and rolling his shoulders back.

“It’s Vanya,” Pogo said, sounding a little distant. Klaus raised an eyebrow but Pogo was already barrelling on. “We need to get to safety – outside of the Academy, now.”

Klaus’ eyes flicked briefly to Diego, then to Luther. “I’ll get Allison,” he said, “go get mom and get outside.”

Diego nodded, already running down the hallway and Luther spun on his heels, dipping into Allison’s bedroom.

Pogo, too, was already turning and running elsewhere. Dust rained down on Klaus, the lights swung, the walls moaned.

“Klaus,” Ben snapped, “you need to go.”

Right. Klaus swallowed, turned on heel, and he ran.

He ran up the staircase at the end of the hallway, hating how it swayed nauseating beneath his feet. Paintings fell from walls and he ducked each time he ran beneath a swaying light in fear it might break and come crashing down upon his head, of which stayed shielded by his arms.

Explosions happened periodically from behind him and it felt like the front lines again, retreating, enemy hot on his heels, bullets and explosions chasing after him. But this was his sister; little Vanya, who had never hurt a fly and left sandwiches out for Five every night after he disappeared.

But it was Vanya, who had written that book that dug its claws into the shadows of their childhood and tore them into the limelight.

Klaus swallowed. He stopped running. He turned around, slowly, carefully, and the floor shook even more violently.

She was probably scared.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

She’d known when she’d written that book.

Klaus’ mind felt like a constant warzone.

Vanya stepped around the corner. Her eyes were white; otherworldly. They froze Klaus to the core; but it was fine. Klaus was used to the cold.

Klaus stepped forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments; I'd love to hear it! The end is coming; the last chapter be out soon!  
> Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed this part <3


	10. Soul So Heavy, Turn Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Vanya.” 

 

His voice sounded warped, distorted as it left his lips, as if stolen by the wind and thrown aside. Vanya was paused in her tracks, staring right at him in such a way it made it look as if she was looking down at him. The look in her eyes was unnerving - it looked like staring death right in the face; so hollow, so empty and cold.  

 

“Klaus,” hissed Ben, hand falling through his shoulder as he tried to grab him. “What are you doing?” 

 

“I know how you’re feeling, Vanya,” he said, attempting to lift his voice over the ruckus of wind and crumbling stone. “I understand. We can talk, but you need to calm down.” 

 

“Do you remember, Klaus,” she began, taking a step forwards. Her voice was eerily empty, void of any emotion. When she stepped forwards a crack shot out from beneath her foot and stretched out to underneath Klaus’ feet and he had to force himself to stand his ground. “When you and Ben said I needed powers to join missions?” 

 

No, he didn’t. He had no recollection of it, but Ben nodded his head as if she might be able to see him. “We were in your room,” he murmured. “Getting ready to go. You were on lookout; I didn’t want to go. We were twelve.” 

 

“Dad didn’t let you come,” Klaus said, “and dad wouldn’t let us try to bring you either, Vanya. It was dad.” He stepped forwards, so did Vanya. Something behind Vanya exploded and Klaus ducked slightly, saw rubble skid down the corridor.  

 

“Do you remember,” Vanya continued, “when I told you I asked dad to keep trying to train me. You laughed. You told me I was ridiculous.” 

 

Klaus pressed his lips together. Though Vanya’s tone was slightly twisted with hurt, reopened wounds, her face remained ghostly and impassive, eerie. “I was fourteen,” he said. He was fourteen, and he was high on drugs an eighteen-year-old had given him because the ghosts from the mausoleum had followed him home. “There was always more to dad’s training than you knew about, Vanya.” 

 

She stepped forwards; another crack spider-webbed forwards to him, the floor shook beneath his feet. Klaus inhaled shakily. “Vanya, you need to stop – there was always more to it than you knew, it wasn’t fair-” 

 

“It wasn’t fair,” she snapped, “watching you throw away your powers with drugs and say that I was lucky to be neglected.” 

 

The house shook violently and something exploded behind Klaus; he heard distant yells of surprise from his siblings. Someone yelled his name. 

 

“Klaus,” said Ben, “you need to run; you can’t get through to her.” He was panicked; _Their_ voice slipped into his, twisted each word he said into something heavy, dark. 

 

“Seriously, Klaus,” agreed Dave, “I don’t think she’ll listen.” 

 

Still; Klaus couldn’t bring himself to move. He was trying; he understood where Vanya was coming from, but the things she was saying – there was always more to it than she ever understood. She was lucky not to be trained – he still stood by that statement. Lucky to not be pushed until she passed out, like Five, or forced to pull trucks before she was ten, like Luther; to do the things Ben had been forced to do; to be locked up like Klaus had.  

 

And the implication that Klaus was the lucky one? That his powers were a gift? 

 

It infuriated him. 

 

“Reginald was a sadistic bastard,” he hissed. “He put us through hell because of our powers. You were lucky to not go through what he did to us. I would have given anything to be in your position-” 

Vanya let out a yell and Klaus flew backwards. It felt like a truck had crashed full-force into him and he flew down the corridor, watching as the floor disappeared below him, and only stopped when he crashed into the railings by the staircase. All of the air from his lungs was thrown out and they remained paralysed for several moments; unable to move, unable to breathe. He had to blink away black dots from his vision and wheezed until his lungs loosened up a little. 

 

Vanya’s footsteps echoed like rolls of thunder as she prowled closer. 

“Klaus!” 

 

He turned his head ever so slightly. In the gaps of the cracked marble railing he was against (and thank god that they were there, because he could see a statue on the far wall behind him that would have impaled him had he kept going) and he saw his siblings and Grace. Luther was supporting Allison and Diego was grabbing Grace’s arm and Pogo was with them. He assumed Five was outside. 

“Klaus!” Yelled Diego again. “Come down – you need to get down!” He looked torn, looking between a smiling Grace and the crumbling staircase that led to Klaus.  

 

Klaus’ hand curled around the crumbling railing, hauling himself upright and onto his feet, facing Vanya. Her hands were curled into fists by her side, body trembling in anger, and her eyes were _glowing_. 

 

“You acted like I was nothing!” Vanya yelled, and her voice seemed to come from everywhere, all around him, deafening. “You acted like you were better than me! Like I wasn’t your sister!” 

“It was Reginald,” Klaus snapped back. “I did nothing to you-”  

 

“I only ever wanted to be like you,” she said, voice trembling, and Klaus grit his teeth. “That’s all I ever wanted-” 

 

“You don’t want what I had,” Klaus snapped, voice torn, violent. “If I could have been born without powers, I would have been happy; it was hell, Vanya, you don’t understand-” 

 

“Dad treated you like his son,” Vanya cried out. “Dad tried to erase me. I had nothing! All I wanted was to be your sister, be like all of you, and you threw me out!” 

 

Klaus took a step forwards – then jumped as the floor gave way, crumbling beneath his slight touch, and so he hurried to find steady ground. 

 

“Klaus!” Diego yelled again, “you need to leave!” 

 

“My powers are hell,” Klaus snarled, “dad made my life hell, you – none of you – ever understood. You were lucky to be ignored; that was the nicest thing dad ever did in his life! I don’t want this!”  

Vanya reacted much like before, though Klaus expected it this time. He wasn’t entirely sure what her powers were – didn't know how to defend against them, so he just threw his hands out and focused on trying to push Vanya back. 

 

His telekinesis met a force – that's what it felt like. As if he was pressing his hands against an invisible tornado, just holding it inches from him. It pushed him backwards until, once more, his back was pressed against the railing. Vanya was straining, pushing against his own powers, and the strength behind it scared Klaus. 

 

He threw his hands to the side, at the very least diverting Vanya’s attack; instead of hitting him, there was a gust of wind and the wall to his right exploded and crumbled apart. Klaus turned from the sight to look at Vanya, stepping closer. 

 

“Dad was a bastard to us all,” he said, “you don’t want what he did to me; how _dare_ you. You don’t know the shit he did,” he hissed, taking a step closer. “Don’t you dare tell me you want my life. But I understand what you’re feeling and it’s because of dad, because of them, and not _me_.” 

 

“It was all of you,” Vanya said. Her voice was empty again as if she had surpassed being angry or upset; she had resigned herself to something. Klaus didn’t know what, but he thought he probably wanted to keep it that way. “You could have done something.” 

 

“You could have, too,” Klaus spat. “You don’t see me as your brother. You don’t want a family; you only ever obsessed about powers, and you got mad that we never knew you had them and you told the entire world our secrets when you didn’t even understand them yourself.” 

 

Vanya blinked. When Klaus stepped forwards, his hands flickering blue like electricity, his telekinesis made her take only a simple step backwards. 

 

She took a step forwards. The floor collapsed – everything collapsed. The stairs, the floor, the chandelier; it left only them on a remaining section held up by one pillar, like a stage. Below them, at the edge of the ring of rubble surrounding them, their siblings stood, gaping up at them. 

 

“I think I understand now,” Vanya murmured, empty voice by his ear despite the few feet between them. Klaus seethed, nails digging into the palms of his hand.  

It hurt. He had wanted to help; he had thought he could. He knew what Vanya was feeling, he understood her pain. But there had been plenty of times where Klaus was jealous of how she flew under Reginald’s radar; how she spent her days living a normal life while Klaus could never escape his powers; be it the ghosts following him or memories of what Reginald had done to him. The idea that that was good – that he should have been grateful, that it was better than being normal; it hurt and it infuriated him and he couldn’t get his emotions under his control anymore; he could hardly hear his yelling siblings beyond the ringing in his ears. 

 

Vanya lifted a hand. It was bathed in a blinding white light and it shot out to him, attached itself to his chest, and it burned white-hot, made his vision black out. When he blinked and the world reformed around him, he was being held up by that same white light feet in the air while it seemed to burn him from the inside out, a fire running through his veins and devouring his bones; he felt like his skeleton would explode in the same way the Academy had. 

 

It took effort to move, but he lashed out. His hands swept around and in the wake of his telekinesis, pillars fell; walls shook, things collapsed. But nothing ever came close to Vanya. He tried to tear the pillar holding the floor she stood on out, and the floor remained; held up by Vanya herself. He tried to push Vanya away; she didn’t budge. He tried to lift debris and throw it at her; it was thrown from his grasp before it even got close. A knife arced through the air but didn’t get within feet of Vanya before it was embedded elsewhere. He tried to manifest Ben, but he stood there, beneath Klaus, and turned wide eyes to his brother with his hands on his stomach. 

 

“I - the Horror – she's doing something-“ And then Ben was gone; he hit a wall to the left and disappeared from everyone’s sight (save for Klaus’) and lay in a dazed state.  

 

Klaus lifted his head, finally his anger giving to fear, wide eyes catching Vanya’s.  _I understand_ he tried to say.  The words never left his lips; the sound was swallowed. Vanya shook her head, slow.  

 

She twisted her hand.

 

Klaus’ neck twisted in unison. 

 

The white light disappeared and Klaus’ body fell to the ground in front of Vanya. Luther’s hand curled around Diego’s arm when he jumped forwards. 

 

Vanya’s eyes followed Klaus’ body, a heap in front of her. “Get up,” she said. “Get up! _Get_ _up_!” 

Her voice changed from anger to sudden hesitance as he remained still, legs twisted over one another, eyes half-lidded, neck bruising. 

 

“Klaus? Get up – get up, Klaus.” 

 

The Academy stopped shaking; there was no more violent wind, no more pressure, the Academy stood still around them. The slab of stone holding Vanya and Klaus in the air crumbled, then slowly fell to the floor, on the same level as the others. 

 

Diego yanked himself free of Luther’s grip and dashed forwards, sliding to his knees by Klaus’ body and placing his hands open his shoulders. He shook him gently, then lifted his hands to painstakingly turn his face to look at him, tapping his cheeks.  

 

“Klaus? K-Klaus?” 

 

He looked up, then, at Vanya, a mix of fear and anger in his eyes. With a hold on Klaus’ body, he scrambled backwards, taking Klaus further away from Vanya and making an attempt to slighty shield him with his own body. 

 

“I - I didn’t-” stammered Vanya, eyes wide. They were still white but no longer glowing, no longer emotionless but now scared. 

 

“You killed Klaus,” said Luther, voice low. Allison’s fist was balled into his shirt, her jaw slack as she stared at Klaus, eyes flicking between him and Vanya.  

 

“I didn’t mean to - I couldn’t - _Klaus_ -” 

 

Vanya was panicking, stumbling backwards, rubble beginning to tremble again and Allison was holding Luther back with a white knuckled grip. Diego, only once he was satisfied with the distance he put between Klaus and Vanya, laid Klaus down and tuned everyone else out, pushing rhythmically on Klaus’ chest.  

 

###  

 

“Ah, shit.” 

 

Klaus sat upright, rubbing his aching neck and looking around the monochromatic scenery around him. As always, he woke up at the end of the road and he expected to see God any second now – usually she was already there by the time he got up, or at the very least riding her bike down towards him. 

 

But he waited minutes and he was alone. Nothing changed; nothing happened. Klaus’ eyebrows furrowed together and he heaved himself upright onto his feet. 

 

“God? Hello? I’m back again,” he called out. Nothing. He pouted, scratching the back of his head and looking around. He took a few steps forwards down the road, looking around for any sign of the little girl that always greeted him. Still, nothing. 

 

The only thing that was different was the clearing to the right; and in the middle of the clearing was a cabin. He spared one last brief glance around before heading there, curiosity stolen by it.  

As he stepped inside, he saw that the cabin inside was different; it was empty, its walls grey and cold with cobwebs in the corners and spiders that peered at him curiously. Klaus’ lips pressed together in a faint line and he turned, a shiver running down his spine. 

 

“Took your time,” came a voice behind him. Klaus startled, whirling around. At the opposite end of the cold room stood Reginald, perfectly upright.  

 

“What are you doing here?” Klaus asked, face screwing up. He took a step back, further away from Reginald who was looking around at the room with distaste.

 

“One might think their son who can conjure the dead would have conjured me days ago,” Reginald stated, pressing his lips together. Klaus scoffed.

 

“As if I’d look for you,” he spat, not bothering to conceal the anger and hatred that bled into his tone. He turned around, hand going towards the door to storm out – but the door didn’t budge. He tried it again and again and again and still the door didn’t give to him. He turned around to look at Reginald as if the man might hold up a set of keys to reveal that he’s somehow gone and locked them in the same room together. Reginald did not do that, however. He simply looked rather exasperated with Klaus, like he always had.

 

“I shouldn’t have expected you to,” he said, looking away briefly. “Such shameful progress you’ve made in your powers.”

 

Klaus raised an eyebrow, snorting. “Excuse me? I’ve made more progress by myself than I ever made with you,” he accused. “What would you have done? Thrown me off a cliff and let me die if I couldn’t catch myself with telekinesis? Cut me open while I’m alive to see how far I can go before I’m dead for good?” He narrowed his eyes at Reginald, grit his teeth together. No doubt that’s what he would have done.

 

“I would have made you _better_ ,” said Reginald and the tone of his words made him shudder in disgust.

“Fuck you,” Klaus muttered, shaking his head. “Are you proud? Proud of what your little Umbrella Academy’s become?” His lips curled up in a sneer as he looked Reginald up and down. “Killing one another. Did you ever expect Vanya to find out?” His eyes flicked back to the door. “To find out and blow up like she did? Give us ten minutes and the others will probably be here, too.”

Reginald’s face remained impassive, unamused. His hands remained clasped together, one eyebrow arched as he waited for Klaus to finish, much like a parent watching a child throw some immature tantrum and waiting it out. Klaus felt heat rise to his cheeks and he balled his hands into trembling fists by his sides.

“I hope Vanya kills them all,” he said, jutting his chin out and glaring at Reginald. “I hope she brings the Academy down on all of them and herself. I hope she ruins everything you ever made.”

“Some of that anger might have done you well when you were younger,” commented Reginald. “Rather than your fear. Maybe it would have gotten you somewhere rather than the gutter you seem to be living in now.” He pressed his lips together, thoughtful, analytical, and scanned Klaus up and down, inch by inch. “Though your delusions seem to always get the better of you.”

“Delusions?” Scoffed Klaus. “What, when I thought that you had ever loved us? Yeah, you’re right about that, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Do you think it’s Number Seven’s fault, what’s to come?” He asked. Klaus’ eyes narrowed, watching carefully as Reginald stepped closer.

“She is the one who blew up the Academy and is on a murderous rampage, so I’d be inclined to say yes,” Klaus muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Reginald shook his head.

“You always were my greatest disappointment, Four,” he uttered, looking away as if he was ashamed. Klaus’ jaw locked painfully and he inhaled, ready to say something, to snap back, but his voice faltered him and he settled on huffing.

“So you’ve said,” he finally said. “And who’s fault is that, huh? If you’d only ever acted like a dad-“

“I acted in the interests of the greater good – for you all, for the entire world,” said Reginald, cutting him off. “I only ever wanted the best for you all. None of you ever reached it.”

“You never tried,” Klaus hissed. “You tortured me – all of us! Nothing you did was ever good for us!”

Reginald raised an eyebrow at his outburst. “I was under the impression you didn’t care about your family.”

Klaus swallowed. “Not them,” he said. “All of you – you never tried to help me, you never tried to understand; you just made it worse, and then you pinned them against me. Everything you did was to hurt me.”

Reginald looked unamused; almost bored. He looked aside, eyed the cold walls around them. “Who’s fault is it, then?” Klaus asked. That got his attention. “You asked if I thought it was Sev-Vanya’s fault. If not hers, then who’s fault?”

Reginald eyed Klaus.

“You failed to help Number Five upon his return,” he commented, looking away once more as if he couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. “You failed to notice who was after Five and why. You failed to notice the trail leading Harold Jenkins to Number Seven’s side; failed to be there for Number One, for Number Three. And when you were there, you antagonised Number Seven into losing control.”

Klaus recoiled. “None of this was my fault,” he snapped. “Fuck you, no.”

“It seems your selfish ways got the better of you – of everyone – in the end.”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Klaus. “How can they expect me to help, to sit and take it, take it, take it when they keep putting me down? They shouldn’t expect me to be there when they never were?”

“I’m sure I can recall Number Two reaching out to you multiple times,” he commented, tipping his head to the side, taunting. “I taught you to act better than that, Four. I taught you all how to work together. Perhaps my greatest mistake was not dealing with you first, however.” He really did seem to deflate then, chest falling as he sighed. “I knew you were the weakest link. I’d had hope that you wouldn’t have been so weak, so self-absorbed that you would have caused the destruction of your family.”

“I never!” Klaus snapped. He stumbled backwards, hands catching him against the door. He felt like he was stuck in a nightmare. The door wouldn’t open and the room seemed to get shorter and shorter and shorter until Reginald was a couple feet from him, towering above him, and he felt like he was eight years old again.

“It was you!” He hissed, pressing himself back further against the door as if it might put some distance between the two of them. “It was always you; all the shit you did, it was you!”

Reginald loomed over him. “Then why, Number Four, lead your siblings to their death while grieving over your own corpse?”

The door fell open and Klaus fell backwards, crashing into the grass outside. He scrambled backwards on his hands, watching Reginald’s silhouette in the doorway before he turned around, scrambled onto his feet and ran away.

He ran, feet pounding against the floor, taking him back to that dirt road. He ran down until he reached the spot of which he always woke up in; of which was now occupied by the little girl, balancing her bike upright with her hands on the handlebars.

“What was that?” He demanded. “Why is – why is he here?”

The little girl simply raised one eyebrow in feigned interest. “No one else is here but us, Klaus,” she stated. Klaus turned to look over his shoulder; the clearing and the misleading cabin were gone, as if they had never existed in the first place. And yet Klaus could feel Reginald’s gaze on him, heavy and burning.

“Well, let’s cut to the chase; don’t cause any mayhem or destruction, don’t go breaking things, don’t try and bring anyone here, don’t try and find me.” She was fixing her bike, as if getting ready to get back onto it. “Don’t mess with the wildlife and don’t go sticking your nose where it’s not meant to be. Try and, you know, find that peace everyone always talks about?”

Klaus’ face screwed up. “What?”

“You’re dead,” said the girl.

“Obviously. And you usually hate that; so send me back and we can be on our way.”

“Oh,” her lips curled upwards in the faintest hint of amusement and she shook her head. “Not this time, Klaus. I’m afraid this is a little more permanent.”

“What?” Klaus asked. “What does that mean – no, you have to send me back, you hate me being here.”

“You’re damn right about that,” she muttered. “But no; this is the end of the line for you, Klaus. Everyone has a time; yours is now. All that nonsense before was simply that; nonsense because of your irritating powers. This is your death. You better get used to it.”

Before she could go to sit down on her bike, Klaus reached out, grabbing her arm. Her eyes snapped up onto him and it felt like the entire world held its breath as he did that, a movement that felt so horrifically wrong, but he held on.

“No,” he said, firm, shaking his head. “I need to go back this time.”

“Trust me,” she said, shaking off his hand. “You don’t want to be down there when it all ends.”

Klaus’ face dropped? “What? Wait – no, the Apocalypse, that’s what we – they – were avoiding; I need to help.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted it?” She asked. Klaus blinked. She took his moment of stunned silence to swing one leg over her bike. “You’re dead, Klaus. You should be grateful you died before everyone else; it isn’t particularly pleasant-“

Klaus lunged once more, grabbing her wrist this time. “Send me back as a ghost, then,” he demanded. She glared at his offending hand but he didn’t move it.

“No. You have your powers to thank for that one; it would mess everything up and I don’t have the time for that, what with what is about to happen.”

Klaus grit his teeth together. “Then – then show me them,” he demanded. “Come on, I can’t stay here, not this time.”

“You want to see them?”

Klaus nodded. The girl stared at him with an unwavering gaze, and then she stepped off her bike once more, let it fall to the ground, and everything around them seemed to ripple and morph; trees growing into walls, grass into rubble.

There was yelling.

Allison was on her knees by Diego’s side. Diego himself was also on his knees, and he was leaning over Klaus, hands clasped together over his chest. He had stopped, though, shoulders shaking, teeth gritting furiously, and he blinked tears down his cheeks.

“C-come on, Klaus,” he growled, voice wobbling. “Not – not now.”

Ben was there, too, with a horrified expression. He looked lost. Looking around, as if he expected Klaus to pop up, but shaking his head as Dave tried to console him. “No,” he said, “no, I can’t feel him – I always can – this is different – _We_ can’t feel him-“

“Calm the fuck down!”

Five was there. He stood in front of Luther, who had advanced on Vanya, who was shaking almost as much as the wall behind her was. Her eyes were glowing again.

“She killed Klaus – she tried to kill all of us!” Luther bellowed.

“I – I can’t stop it! It wasn’t me! He – he said things-“

“I can’t feel him-“

“K-Klaus, you b-bastard, _please_ -“

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

They were back in a field; everything black and white and grey.

Klaus blinked at the sudden change in scenery, looking to the little girl.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” She repeated. “You were alright with this.”

Klaus sucked in a breath that he technically didn’t need, though he felt he needed it desperately.

“Send me back,” he requested. “Please.”

Desperation unfurled in him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t really want this; he never had. There was just so much anger and resentment residing inside of him and it was overwhelming to deal with; he looked at his siblings and listened to what they said and all he could think of was the times they had never been there for him, the times he needed them the most, and how still they seemed to brush him off. And yet was his death the reason they would fight, the reason Vanya would go nuclear? And yet Diego had been crying, and Five had been pale, and Luther angry; because he had died.

He wanted them, but it hurt to open himself up to them – to anyone – nowadays. But Dave had helped. Dave had helped him work through these feelings ever so slightly; helped him come down from the anger and the hatred a little, brought him back to the fearful stage of wanting his family back. And he could have had it; but he had messed it up.

“You have to,” he insisted. “Please. I can – I can fix this.”

The girl stared at him. “It won’t be the same,” she told him.

“I don’t care.”

“You have one chance, Klaus,” she sighed, relenting. “Else you’ll be back here shortly, in a much more unpleasant way.”

Klaus perked up, though not due to that last bit. She reached out her hand, set it on his arm, and-

Everything was cold. So cold – it felt as if he had been plunged into a river of ice, his bones full of the icy water, clothes soaking, freezing, clinging to every inch of his body and keeping him cold.

He jerked upright.

There was no pain in his body; no burning in his lungs, no headache like there usually was. Diego startled, falling backwards and narrowly avoiding head-butting Klaus. Wind seemed to whistle through his bones.

She was right; this was different. He knew before he even had to check, but nonetheless he lifted his hand, ignoring Diego trying to grab his attention, trying to urge him to put some more distance between himself and Vanya, and he pressed his fingers to his neck.

No pulse greeted his touch.

He didn’t have time to deal with that. He used Diego’s offered hands to heave himself upright, easily done without the after-death aches he usually had, and he turned to the mess in front of him; ignoring Ben, Diego, Allison and Dave in favour of Luther, Five and Vanya, a chaotic yelling match with escalating danger.

Klaus slid from Diego’s grip. His feet took him forwards, running, right past Luther, who tried, in shock, to reach out and hold him back, and past a surprised-looking Five, and to Vanya.

He was hesitant, though he didn’t hesitate in his actions, even if he was uncomfortable. He knew what he had to do and it counted more than the unresolved turmoil of emotions inside of him that made him doubt this, that made him angry, made him want to yell or turn and walk away or do something – anything else than what he was about to do.

He continued anyway; he reached Vanya’s side despite the way she panicked more as he got closer, the way the wall and the floor shook harder, and he wrapped his arms around her, forcing her into a hug. She went tense, stiff as a board against him, and the Academy gave a terrific groan as it shuddered on its foundations – and then it stopped. Vanya sagged, going loose like a ragdoll against him, and the Academy stopped shaking. Her arms wrapped around him, fists curling into his coat, and she sobbed.

Klaus tightened her grip on her, murmured soft words that he tried to make genuine, and dared risk a glance at his gaping siblings.

Then he closed his eyes, rested his chin on Vanya’s head, and _it’s none of their fault._

And, despite what the little girl had said; no horrific death came to claim them all, and maybe Klaus had done something right.

 

###

 

Standing on the pavement, Klaus never would have guessed the Academy had been in ruins. It looked like it always ever had; without a scratch, without any hint of destruction. It had been rebuilt perfectly and he had to wonder where Pogo had gotten the builders from.

He had one bag in his left hand.

“It’s kind of like that day all over again, when you first came after the funeral,” Ben muttered to his left.

“Kind of,” Klaus murmured in agreement. The Academy towered over him, as imposing as it always had been. And yet, freshly rebuilt, it didn’t look quite as haunting as it had. It almost looked nice. “But different.”

Ben’s head bobbed in agreement. “Definitely different.”

Klaus sighed, his shoulders slumping. He was still reluctant to go up these stairs, to step inside and confront what lay indoors.

“Been a while week, huh?”

Klaus snorted. “Understatement, Ben.”

“Dare I be hopeful?”

Klaus groaned. “I could still turn around.”

“But you promised you wouldn’t and you already packed,” said Dave, nudging his right shoulder. Klaus groaned. “I know, I know; communicating with your family is a pain, but we’re trying it, huh? And it’s going to go well. At some point.”

Klaus gave him a look and Dave grinned innocently. “Seriously, though. This is good. This is a great opportunity; you said so yourself. This is what you want, right?”

Klaus couldn’t help but still at those words. Those words that both Reginald and the little girl had said; _this is what you want._

But in this context, Klaus realised Dave was correct. It was what he wanted, really. It’d be hard, and annoying, and full of misunderstandings and arguments and someone would end up in the infirmary, probably; but it’s what he wanted. A chance to heal things.

“You got this,” said Dave, squeezing his hand with a grin. Klaus inhaled deeply.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got this,” he agreed, nodding, and then he stepped up.

The Academy had been entirely rebuilt, full of decorations and only slightly-empty cabinets now, but he noticed the lack of Academy portraits. He couldn’t see a single portrait of Reginald, either; he wasn’t here now, this place wasn’t his anymore, it was theirs.

He could hear voices.

He turned towards the living room.

“About time you got here,” muttered Five, looking up from where he was poking the fire place.

“Head’s up,” said Diego, throwing something at him; Klaus only just caught it. It was a bag with a donut in it. Diego nodded at Allison. “There’s a coffee for you, too. Come on; we’ve been waiting for you, we’ve got shit to discuss.”

Five snorted. “A lot of shit to discuss,” he muttered, disappearing from the fire and reappearing in a chair, nursing his own coffee.

It was what he wanted, right?

His siblings, together. All sitting around, no trace of Reginald’s threatening presence, all making some kind of attempt to be better; to move forwards. That’s why he had come back; that’s what he wanted, what he had always wanted, right?

He didn’t want the anger or the hatred anymore, though he knew letting go of it all would be a long, hard process. But they were all trying; so he had to try too.

So Klaus let his shoulders slump, nodded his head, and stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!! I hope you liked the ending, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!! <3  
> You can find me on Tumblr @veteranklaus


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